


Love Bites

by Amymel86, angelwings80, BlueCichlid, Janina, kat_snow2613, kittykatknits, myrish_lace, Steila, vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Fluff, Kink, Other warnings will be on specific chapters, Romance, Sirens, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Warlocks, Witches, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10201763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwings80/pseuds/angelwings80, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCichlid/pseuds/BlueCichlid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steila/pseuds/Steila, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: A collection of one-shots by a bunch of devoted Jonsa fans all with a supernatural theme - dealer's choice - and smut! One-by-one, we'll update. One story a week... :-) Stay tuned!Chapter 1: Witchy Woman by angelwings80Chapter 2: Sister Moon by viviloveChapter 3: The Faery King by JaninaChapter 4: Oh, For a Muse of Fire by myrish_laceChapter 5: Save my Sister by kittykatknitsChapter 6: A Siren's Curse by Amymel86Chapter 7:  Hers to Endure by kat_snow2613Chapter 8: Syphoned Secrets by SteilaChapter 9: Mine by bluecichlid





	1. Witchy Woman

**Author's Note:**

> First story is Witchy Woman by angelwings80.

Sansa was moving as fast as her feet would take her, shoving bits and bobs into drawers, shutting them quickly and running to the next issue. Jon Snow, her brother’s best friend, had just called and was en route to help her rearrange some furniture in her little house. She could kill Robb for this. He was supposed to be the one coming over but instead, he had sent Jon.

_Jon._

Every time his name ran through her mind, she smiled. He was that guy. They had known one another since they were young children, Sansa a few years younger than Robb and Jon. Jon was a funny one. Most guys fawned over her, taken in with her waist length red hair and big blue eyes. Not Jon. She had entertained the idea that he was gay but that thought went out the window when he showed up to Sunday dinner with a girl named Ygritte, another redhead that on the surface seemed to own him, heart and soul for the two years they dated. From what she had been able to ascertain through eavesdropping on the conversations between Jon and Robb, it was less heart and soul and a lot more to do with his cock. She had to stifle her laughter the night she heard Jon tell her brother through the wall that Ygritte could suck the skin off a dick. 

What didn’t make her laugh was all the drama Ygritte had put Jon through. It seemed like every time Jon came to the house to hang out with Robb, his phone would go crazy. He was constantly hiding out in the hallway to call Ygritte or send a text, some days he spent more time on his phone than he did with Robb. It also hadn’t escaped Sansa’s attention that Ygritte made a concerted effort to stand between her and Jon whenever they were anywhere near one another. There were limits to Sansa’s gracious nature and Ygritte managed to trample across every single one.

It took six months but the payoff was spectacular. Not only did Ygritte exit Jon’s life, the way he showed her the door still makes her snicker when she thinks of it.

Robb had finally gotten Jon to turn off his phone to stop the incessant calls and texts during the annual Stark bar-b-que they had every summer. Jon had only been there for a little over an hour and Ygritte had kept his phone buzzing to the point Robb was threatening to throw it in the pool.

“Give me your phone,” Robb had demanded. He held out his hand and waited impatiently until Jon finally handed it over. He pushed the power off button and tossed the phone onto the table. “It’s the end of summer and we have a pool full of bikini clad women. We can’t waste this opportunity. I mean..seriously…did you see the tiny little suit Margaery is wearing?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “You know I’m fucked now right? And not in the way I prefer.”

“She’ll get over it,” Robb said. “Or she won’t. In the meantime, I’m hitting that pool. With or without you buddy.”

He took off running, jumping and landing in the water before Jon could say another word. Jon stood there for a moment, trying to decide if he should call Ygritte back. _Whichever way it goes, she’s going to have my ass anyway._

An hour later, Sansa was on Jon’s shoulders, everyone heavily involved in a game of water volleyball. The entire party went silent and when Jon turned to see what everyone was staring at, he was met with a very angry Ygritte.

“Jon,” Ygritte said. Her voice was low and her tone fierce. The look she gave him could have burned through steel.

“Ygritte,” he responded. He wasn’t sure what else to say. 

“Get out of the pool,” she said. “We are leaving.”

Sansa moved to slide off his shoulders. He waded to the side of the pool where Ygritte stood. “I don’t want to leave. We’re having fun. Do you want to join us?”

“Now Jon.”

Something about the way she said it bothered him. She had made no attempt to be discreet about the situation, making sure that everyone saw her call him out. She wanted his family and friends to know she owned him.

Jon pulled himself up and out of the pool, following Ygritte to the side of the house. “I’m staying.” He could feel his nerves in his belly. “You can go if you want to but we’re just having fun. If you want, we can go get a bite to eat tonight and maybe see a movie if it isn’t too late.”

Ygritte turned around, her eyes icy blue and tearing into him. “This isn’t optional Jon. You aren’t staying here with a bunch of girls acting like sluts.”

“How are they acting like sluts?” Jon could feel his temper flaring up. “We’re just playing a game for fuck sake.”

“Sansa Stark had her legs around your neck,” she said.

Jon cocked his eyebrows up, and smirked. “That’s pretty lofty coming from a girl who had her legs around my neck the first day we met…and most days after that.”

Ygritte’s lips pursed as she cocked her head. “Right. Well, I think it will be a long time before that happens again, if ever.”

Jon nodded his head slowly. “You know what?” He paused for a second. “I think you’re right. I’ll see you around. Or not. I’m okay with that too.”

“So, we’re done?” Ygritte asked incredulously.

Jon thought about it for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, if we’re being honest, this situation has run its course.”

“What do you mean, ‘run its course?’” she demanded.

“You know what I mean,” Jon said. “We don’t have an actual relationship. We’re either fighting or we’re fucking. There’s never anything in between anymore. I’d rather go without than spend the rest of my time fighting with you.”

When Ygritte turned, the gate separating the front of the house from the backyard creaked open, just enough for her to pass through.

Sansa stood to the side, just out of sight, a smile playing on her lips. She flung her hand in Ygritte’s direction, as if she was trying to get something offensive off her fingers. Turning back towards the rest of the party, she grinned, her face pointed towards the ground so her amusement wouldn’t be seen.

In the weeks that followed, Sansa noticed Jon popping up a lot more in her life. As a freshman, she didn’t have classes in the same area of the campus as Jon and Robb who were seniors yet it seemed like she was constantly running into him. It became such a common occurrence that they began walking together to their classes, something Sansa found even more peculiar considering it had Jon going in the complete opposite direction of the building he needed.

Now he was on his way to her house. Jon had never been in her house, at least not since she had moved out on her own and started college. She enjoyed the quiet living alone provided and even more importantly, the privacy. In the Stark house, there was always someone bursting into her bedroom and she couldn’t count how many times she had screamed at Arya for snooping through her stuff. She did another run through the house, ensuring she hadn’t missed anything, feeling a little winded when she heard Jon’s car pull into the driveway. 

She paced back and forth for a moment, trying to decide if she should meet him at the door or wait for him to knock and pretend she was just casually letting him in. She didn’t have time to make her final decision because Jon was already out of his car and had seen her through the window. She paused for a second to wipe the grin off her face before opening the door and letting him in.

“Morning Sunshine,” Jon said cheerily. “So, I hear we are reorganizing today?”

“Um..yeah,” Sansa said. “I thought Robb was supposed to be coming over to help. He’s such a lazy bastard.”

Jon laughed. “No. He’s a horny bastard. He’s off somewhere with Margaery Tyrell. I try not to think on it too much.”

Sansa made a face. “Ew, me either.”

The next few hours passed quickly as they moved furniture, laughing and talking about the most mundane things. Sansa had no idea that Jon had such a sharp sense of humor. He seemed so quiet and serious all the time but not today. She had found herself staring at him throughout the afternoon, even having to catch her breath when his brown eyes looked up at her, a black inky curl falling over his forehead. 

The last piece that needed to be moved was the enclosed bookshelf in the spare room. Sansa was using the room as an office of sorts and needed the shelf moved to make space for the new desk she was having delivered later in the week.

“When I count to three, we’ll both lift. Make sure to use your legs, not your back.” Jon gripped the wood. “Right?”

Sansa nodded.

“One, two, three,” Jon grunted as he lifted. Sansa tried to lift the shelving unit but barely made it a couple of inches off the ground, causing it to fall forward, the doors opening and contents spilling onto the ground. Letting the shelves down, Jon looked at the objects on the floor. Sansa quickly began picking up the odds and ends, tucking them into her sweatshirt to keep them out of view.

“You’re a witch,” Jon said. “You’re a fucking witch.”

“Jon…..” Sansa pleaded. He held his hand up to stop her. 

“Have you cast against me?” Jon asked.

“What? No!” Sansa was babbling but stopped suddenly. “Hang on, how do you know about casting?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Jon said. “What have you been doing?”

“I’m not answering your questions until you answer mine,” she said stubbornly. “How do you know about casting?”

Jon took a deep breath. “What do you know about the Targaryen coven?”

Sansa’s eyes went wide. “Um…just that they are the most powerful coven of witches in Westeros. They used their magic to bring back the dragons and take the Throne. Dany Targaryen is considered to be the most powerful witch in the World. Where are you going with this?”

Jon paused. “Don’t freak out.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Sansa said. “I think we’re past the point where we should be freaking out. Tell me.”

“Okay,” Jon started. “But you can’t tell anybody. And I mean it.”

“Jon! Fine! Get on with it!” Sansa was getting impatient. Her stomach was in knots, anticipation of what he was about to tell her driving her mind to come up with all sorts of options. 

“I’m not Jon Snow,” Jon said. “Well, I mean, I am but I’m not. My Father was Rhaegar Targaryen. I took Snow as a surname for obvious reasons.”

“Jon, are you fucking kidding me? Are you telling me you are related to the Targaryen coven?”

“I’m not related to the Targaryen coven,” Jon said. “I’m part of it. Dany is my aunt.”

“Does she know about you?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, she knows about me. We know each other very well. I spend Halloween with her every year,” Jon said.

“Why have you been hiding all this time?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Can you imagine what would happen if the World knew there was another Targaryen warlock?”

The stories of the Targaryen warlocks had become legend. Nobody in modern times truly knew what was true and what was false, but the stories were passed down, generation to generation. In most of the stories, the Targaryen warlocks were kind and charitable, but there were also stories of darkness. Warlocks that suffered from mental illness and practiced in black witchcraft. One Targaryen King had slaughtered entire houses and there were rumors of him casting spells to exact his revenge on those who moved against him, even after his demise. Some believed the deposed Cersei Lannister was still desperately seeking those spells to use for her own evil purposes.

Sansa was lost in thought, brought back when she realized what Jon being Rhaegar’s son meant. “Jon….your Father was killed for being a Targaryen warlock.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “Sansa, I need to know if you have cast against me. Please.”

“No, I swear I haven’t. I have never casted against you,” Sansa said. 

“I’ve known for months that someone was casting on me,” Jon said. “I never thought it was you though. What have you done Sansa?”

“Nothing bad! I swear it. I did a binding spell and a banishment spell.” She said.

“What kind of binding? Who did you banish?” 

“I cast against Ygritte.” Sansa looked at the floor. She fidgeted with the ends of her hair, holding her breath for Jon’s anger. It never came.

Jon sighed. “You cast against Ygritte?” His voice almost sounded amused.

“I did. I did a binding to prevent her from doing you any harm and I did the banishing to make her disappear when the time was right,” Sansa said. “I know it toed the line between what is right and what is wrong but I swear, it was only in your best interest.” She held her hand to her heart. “And I cast to give you everything you wish for, but only the things that would be rightfully yours. You know, in case me binding and banishing Ygritte was against what you wanted.”

“You thought it out very well,” Jon said. “I’m impressed. But why would you go to all the trouble?”

“Because….I love you,” she whispered.

Sansa was startled when Jon moved swiftly towards her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard. Their lips moved against one another, Sansa opening hers slightly to give him more access. 

“Everything makes sense now,” he mumbled against her lips. “I get it.”

Sansa pulled back. “Get what?”

“Why I keep getting pulled to you,” Jon said. “I kept trying to stay away from you because I figured you’d think I was like a stalker or some shit like that but I kept going to you. It was like I was being dragged in your direction.”

“I didn’t do a love spell Jon,” Sansa said. “I would never take your free will like that.”

“No, you didn’t. But you did cast for me to having everything I wished for,” Jon said.

“You wished for me?” Sansa asked.

Jon huffed. “No. I prayed for you.”

Sansa jumped on him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders tightly as she kissed him. Within moments, they were on the carpet, writhing against each other. Jon sat up on his knees, Sansa’s eyes fixed on his. 

“Are we going to?” His cheeks flushed.

Sansa giggled. “Do you want to?”

Jon nodded enthusiastically, eliciting another fit of giggles from Sansa. His lips found hers as they frantically tore at their clothes, fabric flying in all directions before sinking to the floor, the carpet tickling the bare skin on Sansa’s back. Jon sat back on his calves, look over Sansa’s body, her hair creating a curtain of red around her body. He gently pushed her hair back, exposing her bare breasts before kissing across her chest and taking a nipple in his mouth. She arched her back, pressing herself against him.

“Jon,” she whispered. Her fingers played along the muscles in his back, finally resting on his hips. She writhed as he kissed her ribs, moving down slow enough to drive her mad. She felt his teeth on her hipbone and held her breath. When his mouth met her center, it felt like a strike of lightening through her body. “Holy shit!” She felt him grin against her.

She could already feel her body building, every kiss and touch from Jon pushing her farther and farther until her thighs closed around his head, her back arching as she cried out. Jon kept going, working her through her peak until she relaxed, her body sinking into the carpet. He moved back onto his calves, waiting for Sansa to look at him. 

“Sansa,” he said quietly. “I want you. I want you now.”

“Get on your back,” she ordered.

Jon paused for a moment. 

“Jon, now.”

He fell back onto the ground, watching her expectantly. A moment later, she was over him, straddling his hips. Her fingers were warm when she wrapped them around him and he gasped loudly when she sank onto him.

“Sansa! Oh shit!” She was so hot and wet and tight around him. He had to reign himself in, trying to think of something other than her body wrapped around his so they wouldn’t be finished before they had even gotten into a rhythm. 

“Jon,” she said. Her hands went to his chest, bracing herself as she rolled her hips against him. “Are you mad at me?”

Jon huffed. “Obviously not. Why are you asking?”

“Because I used my powers to change your life,” she said. She increased her pace, Jon flexed against her. 

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t let you do Sansa,” he said. His words were paced and slow. 

“I did Jon. I totally did.” She could feel the familiar pressure building in her center. 

Jon thrust hard up into her. “I knew I there was a spell. I didn’t know you were the one casting but I knew.”

“How could you know?”

“I’m a warlock,” Jon said. “By birth. We can feel it. I knew it was against Ygritte. I knew whoever was doing it loved me. It was done to protect me.”

“I do love you Jon,” she gasped. “I have for so long.”

“I know sweetheart,” he said. “Fuck. I’m going to come. Oh shit…” He held her hips tightly, releasing himself. Sansa seized around him, her orgasm making his even more intense. “You are so perfect. So fucking perfect.”

They didn’t bother getting off the floor, content to lie next to one another, looking into each other’s eyes.

“Now what?” Sansa asked. “Is this it for us?”

Jon grinned. “No. Though I don’t think the world is ready for a Stark witch and  
Targaryen warlock. It’s going to set shit on fire.”

Sansa laughed. “How about we just agree not to put spells out when it involves each other and stay under the radar?”

“I think that would be advisible. Though I suspect we’re not going to go under Robb’s radar,” Jon said. “For the sake of caution…is Robb?”

“Yes,” she said. “We all are.”

“Shit,” Jon said. “And here I thought my life was already complicated. Our kids are going to be scary powerful.”

“We’re having kids?” Sansa asked.

“Yes,” Jon said. “We will have 4 children. Three girls and one boy.”

Sansa’s surprised was obvious. “So the stories of the Targaryen warlocks being clairvoyant are true.”

“Yep,” Jon said. He caressed her hair. “And we are going to have a magical life together.”


	2. Sister Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is becoming a Direwolf around the time of the full moon and has found a mysterious mate in the woods.
> 
> Here's my entry for this collection. I am so thrilled to be included with all of these fabulous Jonsa writers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and lyrics from Sting's 'Sister Moon'

_My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun_  
_My hunger for her explains everything I've done_  
_To howl at the moon the whole night through_  
_And they really don't care if I do_  
_I'd go out of my mind, but for you._

 

Jon woke to the howling of wolves in the wood. He shivered and realized he was lying naked in the snow. _Gods, not again_ , he thought, looking around and trying to get his bearings. He stood up gingerly and winced when his hand brushed the place where she’d bit him. The mark that marred his shoulder was not deep. It had only been a love bite, he knew. _Just a nip from her jaws_. He’d given a few of those as well.

This was the fourth moon it had happened to him, since it had started. Four moons he’d been back at Winterfell. Four moons since he’d been proclaimed Lord of Winterfell and King in the North. He did not feel worthy of either title but Sansa had insisted that he stop fighting it.

 _‘You are worthy, Jon. There’s no man living more worthy than you,’_ she’d said the last time he’d tried to talk his way out of these honors and burdens. He’d felt such an aching warmth in his heart when she spoke those words. Anytime Sansa said those things that made him feel like she cared for him, like she saw him as someone worth her affection and notice now, it made him feel whole and not so much like a being that didn’t belong amongst the living.

But since he’d returned to their home, the nights around the full moon, things had changed. _He_ would change. He would become the White Wolf. At first, he thought he was merely warging into Ghost but this was different he soon learned. He wasn’t just inside his direwolf’s body and feeling the things Ghost felt. He was physically becoming a direwolf. Why was this happening? He did not know for certain. Sansa had said he was a Stark to her…said he was a direwolf the same as all the Starks. He doubted she knew how prophetic those words were.

The first time it had happened, he had been sitting in his solar that evening, feeling weighed down by so much toil and care, when a stirring in his blood called to him. Something inside him longed for the cold of winter winds and the peace of the godswood. He ventured out in the cold and sat upon the stone by the water at first but then a voice whispered through the leaves of the heart tree to enter the water. Jon could not say why he listened to the voice. He just did. Not long after he’d entered the water, he lost consciousness…at least he thought he had. He woke up naked further in the godswood near dawn, confused and his throat sore...from howling he later realized.

But the second moon, he’d found _her_ , the Red Wolf in the Wolfswood. He’d smelled her scent from within the castle before he even changed that night. It was intoxicating and arousing and he knew once he changed he’d not be able to control his desire to find her. He had followed her scent outside the castle walls. He’d found her in the wood after he’d changed. They had growled and snapped at each other at first. They’d spent several minutes circling, sizing one another up until, by some unspoken pact, she’d finally submitted and then they had mated. Eagerly mounting the she-wolf in heat, he’d let the animal take over that first night. She’d whined as his paws and claws dug into her fur, pressing her down, but it was a needful whine. He’d panted and bit the scruff of her neck while he was inside of her until the mating was completed. They’d both howled together at the moon once he’d finished. He’d nipped at her shoulder softly afterwards and pressed his snout against her throat. Since then, their mating was still the act of animals but there was often a tenderness to it as well. _But not last night_ , Jon thought growing hard again at the memory of it. He would often think of his nights with his she-wolf when he was only a man again.

The moon was still glowing brightly in the pre-dawn sky. He’d started leaving the castle at night around the time of the full moon. The guards all thought he’d found some wildling woman or whore in Wintertown to keep company with on those nights. _Well, she is female though not a woman_. He usually lost his clothes though which was a problem so he had to be stealthy to return without being noticed. So far he had been successful at that but someday he’d likely be seen. _All hail the naked King in the North_ , he thought with a wry smile.

He was wondering if he’d be so lucky again when hurried movement up ahead caught his eye. At the edge of the wood, he saw her in the silvery glow of the moon reflected on the snow. Not the Red Wolf but Sansa, his half-sister. Lovely Sansa was walking in the winter wood, in the snow, at the end of the night, back towards Winterfell…naked.

Realization hit and Jon stumbled to his knees, not knowing if he was more shocked by this discovery or overcome with shame for what he’d done with her. Curiously, the one thing he did not feel was revulsion though.

He nearly laughed when he saw her stop at a large tree and retrieve a bundle from its base. _Clothes. Of course…leave it to Sansa to plan ahead_. He had to talk to her, to explain himself and find out what she knew. Perhaps she had no idea about him being part of this…or perhaps she did know.

 

* * *

 

Sansa slid into the hot bath and hissed as the heat of the water contacted the tenderness. He’d been rougher last night and so eager for the coupling after so many nights apart. _But we’ve not been apart, not really_ , she thought. She did not blame him. She’d wanted him as badly as he’d wanted her and his aggressiveness had not offended her in the slightest. _So, careful and gentle with me at all times…even when we argue. It is pleasing somehow to see him not so careful and gentle every now and then…to know he desires me…even if it was the wolf in him._

She knew who the White Wolf was. Who else could it be? Hadn’t he been called that in the great hall of this very castle? She knew she should feel shame at how much she had missed the feel of him, the feel of her brother in wolf form taking her, but she felt none. She could tell he had no idea though. He was never much of a liar or dissembler. It was a mark of his honor and goodness but also a weakness as a king.

The first moon when she’d changed, she’d been alone. She’d been sitting by her fire when she felt an inexplicable longing for the godswood. She’d ignored the longing for several hours though. She’d went to her bed but then tossed and turned most of the night. It was nearly dawn, the hour of the wolf, when the fever in her blood would not be ignored any longer. She’d crept to the godswood and entered the water. She’d not known what to think when she woke shivering by the pool, naked with her dress torn to shreds nearby. At first, she feared she’d been raped and lost consciousness but she quickly realized no one had touched her. She’d gathered up the material of her dress and raced back to her chambers.

That first morning after, she’d wanted to talk to Jon but he had clearly been tired and troubled and avoided her presence. She’d not known why and had assumed it was merely his concerns over being made king. Sansa had bigger concerns of her own at present and waited to see what the next night would bring.

By the second moon, she had accepted that she was becoming a direwolf around the full moon for some reason. The Starks followed the old gods and were tied to the direwolf. Perhaps some strange blood magic of the Children was at work here. Sansa felt the pull of the moon and an unaccustomed heat in her blood grew throughout the day. She was flushed and…wet with desire. Things she’d not ever felt this strongly in the past, even when she was still a silly, little girl with dreams of a golden prince.

She feared she would be dangerous to normal people as the wolf and she had fled the castle at the second moon. And that’s when he’d found her in the woods. The mating had been wild, the act of lust and instinct, and yet she’d never felt such pleasure, such true sexual satisfaction in her life, as she did when the white, male direwolf dominated her and made her his. She thought of Ghost when she saw the White Wolf but this direwolf’s eyes were not red. She knew those dark grey eyes well all the same though. And the next morning, she knew exactly why her half-brother, Jon Snow, had bags under his eyes and why he seemed to move stiffly at times that day.

 

A knock at the door roused her from her musings and she bid her maid to enter. Except that it was not her maid…

“Sansa,” he said gruffly. He was half hidden behind the door when he realized she was bathing. He swallowed hard trying to still the sudden pounding of his heart and the desire that would be thrumming in his blood. “I didn’t mean to intrude. We need to talk when you’re…dry and dressed.”

Sansa’s head whipped around and saw just one eye visible and it was cast downward. She knew at once that he knew. “Come in, Jon,” she called as she reached for her dressing gown. “We can talk now.” She stood, letting the water run off her body. She stepped out of the tub and watched him walk in the room, eyes steadfastly on the floor instead of on her. Why did that irk her so? She fastened the gown. “You know?” she asked.

“Aye…I do now,” he said finally looking up into her blue eyes. Those eyes used to remind him of the summer skies but now they reminded him of misty pools reflecting the blueish, silver moonlight in the wood. He could see a red mark high up on the side of her neck and he walked over to her without a second thought. “Did I do that?” he asked, tracing the mark with his forefinger.

“You did,” she sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Tis just a scratch.”

“It matters.”

“Then, be gentler tonight. And I will be as well,” she said touching his shoulder, knowing where she’d bitten him last night even though his clothes covered the mark.

“We…we can’t keep doing this,” he said, the guilt dripping from his tongue. “I’ll go to the crypts tonight and have a guard bar the door until morning.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said sharply. He looked up from his guilt and into her eyes once more, searching for an absolution. “We are Starks. The blood of the First Men is in us. We are direwolves. And we are home at last together. And while we may keep this, whatever this is, from others, there is no need to hide from each other.”

“But, the mating…Sansa, I’m your brother. This isn’t right.”

“We mate as wolves. Animals do not necessarily disregard their siblings in such matters,” she said, hoping it sounded sensible like something Maester Luwin might have taught them. “Survival is more important to animals than how they are related. And you’re my half-brother,” she pointed out, hoping it would not wound him to hear as it once did but wishing to make some sort of distinction…some sort of excuse to continue what she desperately wanted to continue.

“Your _half_ -brother, aye…and that makes this alright in your mind?” he asked bitterly.

 _So much for not wounding you_. “Perhaps…perhaps it is only what I tell myself to make peace with it,” she whispered. She moved closer to him and lightly touched his face. “I wish to make peace with it, Jon, because I do not wish to stop.”

Jon could barely hear her last words. Blood was pounding in his ears now. He stroked her cheek in return and looked down at her chest heaving under her dressing gown. He felt his manhood hardening and knew he should turn and walk out her door. He couldn’t bring himself to though and he lifted his eyes back up to hers. They stood there staring at each other for several minutes, hands on each other’s faces, hearts beating rapidly and neither one saying a single word.

“What would it be like if we didn’t wait until we changed again?” he asked, barely believing the words were coming out of his mouth.

“It would be us…not us as wolves,” she said quietly.

“And that would be wrong,” he said slowly, never letting his eyes drop from hers.

“That would be wrong,” she concurred, licking her lips.

“I don’t fucking care,” he finished resolutely, almost grimly.

“And I don’t…I don’t fucking care either,” she said with a smile.

He barred her door and Sansa had shed her dressing gown by the time he turned back to her. He crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat and pulled her roughly to him; kissing her mouth, nipping at her sweet, full bottom lip and then gently peppering her jaw with a bite, then a kiss…a bite, then a kiss.

She moved her hands up to his shoulders, tugging insistently, as though there was any gap between them left to fill as she kissed him in return, sighing and moaning out her desire with every breath she took. He pulled off his jerkin and tunic. Sansa stepped back to watch him bare himself to her as she was bare before him. Her eyes were drawn to his scars, amazed at this proof of his death before her very eyes. She’d not seen him bare chested since they were children. His body was chiseled with muscle. _Not a wolf now_ , she thought. _A man…a beautiful, well-made man_.

Then, his own eyes widened when he looked down at her for a moment and she immediately covered her fainter scars. _Faint, but still there…part of me now_. He reached out to her and gently stroked the long scar across her torso that went from under her left breast to her right hip. He looked back at her questioningly for just a moment before his eyes hardened.

"No…you did not do that," she said.

"I would never do that," he answered.

He kissed her again and this time it was the gentlest and sweetest kiss Sansa had ever known, the kiss of a lover. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and sat down to pull off his boots, breeches and small clothes. Sansa rolled over automatically for him to mount her like he would when they were wolves.

“No,” he said softly, gently nudging her to roll to her back. “I would look upon your face when we’re like this.”

His soft words though were soon extinguished by his rapid movement to cover her body with his own. He kissed her hungrily, tasting her with his tongue and biting at her lips again. She was soon answering with her own tongue, anxiously tasting his mouth, and she nibbled at his full lips. He ran a hand down between them to feel the wetness pooling from her cunt now. He brought his finger up to his mouth and licked it, giving a growl before he started kissing his way down her body.

“Jon?” she queried with a furrowed brow as she felt his beard tickling her stomach and then his hot breath between her thighs. “What are you…OH!”

His mouth was on her nether lips and she felt his tongue swiping them. This was something new. Something the wolf would not think to do and something the beast she had been married to would never have done. She moaned aloud and reached down to tug at his hair. She pulled it loose from the tie he wore to keep it back and ran her fingers through his curls as he nuzzled at the curls upon her sex.

He loved tasting her…something the wolf could never appreciate. Her tangy musk was sweet and strong and he would gladly worship Sansa’s cunt every day from now on if she would permit it. _If only the full moon could occur every fucking night from now until the end of time_. He gently kissed and licked and sucked at her bud, making a little method of it, as he slid his fingers inside the warm, tightness of her. Her sighs and moans and her hands in his hair guided him. Her peak was building he could tell as he lapped up the cream from her cunt, the sweetness that was Sansa. She tried to squirm away, to push at him then. But if he were her alpha in the woods, he could be that here, too.

“Stop fighting this, sweet girl. Let it happen,” he murmured into her flesh.  He felt her resistance slacken and he returned to his task of tasting and teasing.

It was too much. She could barely take it. _Pleasure shouldn’t make you want to escape, should it?_ It did in a strange way though. She would try and retreat, only to be arching her hips up and wantonly shoving his head back down to her the next moment. _Fuck me with your tongue. No, fuck me with your cock. I can’t take anymore. Never, ever stop._

“Jon… _unnn_ …I can’t…”

"Yes, you can," he said with his eyes on her.

Those eyes boring into her flesh and soul shredded the last of her resistance. She let him carry her away with his mouth and fingers and Sansa crashed and fell and soared all at once. She turned her head into the pillow when she screamed his name.

“Oh, gods!! Jon… _ahhh_ …yes…yes…JON!!”

She lay puddled and listless beneath him, much like her dressing gown lying on the floor by the tub. Her breathing had finally slowed and he’d wiped her juices off his mouth but could not stop the smug smile that was there. He kissed her mouth and she smiled up at him. He lay down beside her, holding her to him for a while until she began to stir.

“Roll to your back, Jon,” she said with a touch of husky need in her voice now. He looked at her with a perplexed sort of smile. “We’re not in the woods and your she-wolf wants to mount you this time,” she whispered in his ear next.

Desire coiled through him once more at her command. His arousal was increased by the determined look in her eye, the look that he’d first seen from this fierce young woman when she had convinced a broken man to fight for their home…when he thought all the fight had left him.

She moved over him cautiously. At first, he thought she feared that he would grab her or force her in some way but he soon realized that was not what she was doing. She was teasing him…staying just above him without touching. Her legs straddled his hips and his cock was painfully hard and straining towards her but she kept her cunt just out of reach. Her arms were supporting her upper half, braced on either side of his shoulders, her breasts tantalizingly close and yet he instinctively knew that he was not supposed to move to touch them or any part of her…not until she gave him permission. This was something new that they didn’t do as wolves. The direwolves played before mating sometimes. But for the most part, they would fuck and be done with it. The howling afterwards was their post-coital release. This was the loving of their human selves and it involved a certain amount of play as well. Jon wondered if they would howl afterwards. He rather enjoyed that part.

“Sansa…” he nearly whimpered when he thought he would die of the sweet ache in his groin if she didn’t move soon. “Please…”

She smiled and lowered herself to him. Perhaps that was what she’d been waiting for…a man to ask her, to beg her, to want her for herself. She wrapped a hand around his weeping cock and guided him to her wet core. She lowered herself and took him in…all of him. He sat up and grasped her ass, pulling her up close. He ducked his head and laved at her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples. And Sansa felt that wonderful sensation building once more. The sounds were obscene though. She never thought of that when she was the wolf but the flesh of their sweaty thighs slapping together, the…squishing slick sound of her wet cunny, their grunts and groans…it made her cheeks flame even though she wasn’t about to stop.

He saw the blush forming and smiled at her. He loved this aspect of Sansa, ever the lady, as much as he loved his fierce Sansa. _Such a contradiction…as different as the sun and moon…all in the same woman._

She pushed him forcefully down on his back again and began riding his cock more rapidly, almost frenziedly. Her peak was near and she wanted to see him reach his with her. She grabbed her breasts, squeezing and teasing them with her eyes rolled back and her mouth hanging open. He reached for her breasts then and she put his hands on her ass instead. She then grasped one of her lovely, pink-tipped teats and licked it with her tongue, keeping her eyes on his while she licked and sucked.

Jon thought he might swallow his own tongue if she kept doing that. He gripped her hips and started thrusting harder up into her. His groan brought a wicked look to her eye. She leaned down suddenly, biting his lip while pinching his nipples hard without warning. Jon shouted as he came then and there with a million stars bursting behind his eyelids.

“What in Seven Hells was that?” he panted a few minutes later.

“Just a little play,” she said as she nestled into his arms now.

He looked down at her and scoffed. “What am I to do with you? I am too far gone to regret this day though the lords will likely have our heads if they find out.”

“I cannot say. What am I to do with you?” she asked, looking up at him sweetly.

“The moon will be full tonight. Will you howl with me in the wood?”

“Yes, tonight we can howl at the moon and worry about tomorrow when it comes.”


	3. The Faery King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa takes a trip into the Faery World all thanks to King Jaehaerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> story by Janina!

Sansa saw King Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the Faeries often. When she went for a walk in the forest behind her house, or even read outside under the Hawthorne tree, he would appear to her. She even caught him gazing up at her window at night when she’d get that tingly feeling up her spine that someone was out there.

That someone was always him.

He liked to be called Jon, he said it was simpler, and though he was a King, he never made her do anything ridiculous like call him “Your Highness” or bow to him.

Jon didn’t look like what one would expect faeries to look like either. He looked like an ordinary man. A rather handsome man, just with pointy ears. He had gray eyes, a beard, and dark, shoulder-length black hair he sometimes pulled back. She’d told him once that when he did that it was called a man bun. He’d scowled at her, apparently not liking the term, and wore his hair loose for a week.

He was tall, something one wouldn’t associate with the fae, and muscular. Sometimes he liked to wear what he called breeches, but what Sansa called trousers, and a shirt that was rather sheer, showing off his impressive physique underneath. He liked to give her peeks at his body, but she was a red-blooded woman and didn't mind ogling - er, peeking. She’d never tell him that though, for it would most certainly give him reason to think she would do what he wanted. And what he wanted was for her to be his Queen.

“From the moment I saw you, Sansa, I wanted you as my own,” he told her.

Who talked like that? And to _her_?

Her experience with men was rather shitty. She’d had two boyfriends who pretended to be kind but were really monsters behind closed doors. Was her track record so bad that she was now attracting other-worldly beings to her?

Sansa was pretty sure she was the only one that could see him, too. Well, aside from small children and animals. Grey Wind, her brother's dog, barked at Jon. But Lady, Sansa’s Siberian Husky, hardly ever did. In fact, Lady seemed rather bored by his presence. 

She wasn’t sure how or why she was the only one that could see him. Perhaps there was a witch somewhere in her family tree. Sometimes he’d appear when she was outside with her mother, helping her mother weed her garden, and he’d smile at her in that mischievous way he had, his gray eyes sparkling with delight. He’d tell her how he wanted her, how beautiful she was, how her red hair was "kissed by fire" and her blue eyes reminded him of sapphires and bluebell flowers. He would tell her how he bet she tasted like the finest ambrosia.

She’d stop him with a glare before he got too graphic, but he never stayed quiet long.

(And she had difficulty admitting that she found herself rather turned on when he spoke to her thus.)

It wasn’t as though she ignored him all the time when he would visit. She would talk to him, let him regale her with stories about the fae and life at court. He’d try his best to entice her and tell her about all that she would have dominion over. He told her how he’d worship her.

When she asked him once what happened to his Queen, he’d sighed and said he’d never taken one before. That he’d inherited the throne when his father had passed, and he’d never found another in the Realm worthy of sharing the throne with him.

“And you think me worthy?” she asked him one afternoon as she sat in her backyard on the ground making a crown out of dandelions. (She liked to tease him.)

He smiled, his gaze softening with something that made her heart race. He sat down across from her, legs folded just as hers were. “Yes, Sansa, I think you worthy. You’re clever and sharp, and you do not suffer fools.”

(He didn’t know about her exes; he could say that).

When she was finished with her crown she held it up for his inspection. He took it from her and got up on his knees to place it on her head. “I would crown you my Queen of Love and Beauty,” he vowed.

She looked up at him, squinting because of the sun and said with a smile, “You’re silly, Jon Targaryen.”

He pushed her onto her back then and covered her body with his own. His eyes had darkened and Sansa knew lust when she saw it on a man’s face. That was how Jon was looking at her now, and Sansa tried not to let it entice her. (But it did). He ran the tip of his finger along her face and murmured, “Kiss me, Sansa.”

“No,” she told him. “I bet your lips would drug me. Then you’d be free to steal me away.”

“One day I will,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

But he didn’t steal her away.

He stole her brother instead.

The _thing_ in Rickon’s bedroom was not Rickon. It sort of looked like him, but only if you squinted. And it was feral. Every time someone came near it, it growled. 

Sansa knew instantly that Jon was behind this. He had been threatening her for ages that he was going to get her into his land one way or another. Switching out her brother was one way to do it. She had no choice now; she had to get Rickon back.

Her family was none the wiser. She learned then the power of what people would tell themselves to keep them safe even when the truth was staring right at them with beady little eyes and pointy ears.

Before she made her trip to the Faery Realm she placed random items made of iron in the things bedroom, rendering it weak and ill enough to stay in bed as though it had the human flu.

She methodically packed herself a backpack with food and water in it. One did not eat or drink anything in the Faery Realm. To do so meant you could trap yourself there. She also packed a flashlight, and some spare batteries. Electronics didn’t work the Faery Realm, but maybe batteries would be okay.

She pulled her hair back in ponytail, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, packed a blanket just in case, and wore her best trainers.

Sansa knew exactly where to go: there was a spot in the woods where two branches from the shrubbery created an arch. There were several of those in the forest, and Jon had told her they were portals to his Realm. When she relaxed her eyes, she could see a faint yellow shimmering light that told her Jon's Realm was just on the other side. 

She hesitated for half a second, thought of Rickon, and then passed through.

She let out a sigh after holding her breath as she’d walked through the portal, as though bracing herself. She looked around, brows scrunched together. It didn’t look any different, not as she thought it might. She looked back through the portal. Yup, she’d definitely gone through it…and then back around at the Faery Realm.

She heard barking behind her and whipped around in time to see Lady leaping through the portal. “No!” Sansa shouted, but it was too late. Sansa squatted down when Lady came over to her, whimpering. “Go back, girl. Go back and protect the family from that thing.”

Lady sat and looked at with one blue eye and one gold eye. “But who will protect you?”

Shocked, Sansa fell back on her rump, eyes wide as she gaped at Lady. “You talk?!”

“Of course I talk,” Lady replied.

“But—but—I’ve never heard you before!”

“It wouldn’t do for you to be caught carrying a conversation with me, would it? Besides, if I talked, your family would only hear it as barking. In any case, King Jaehaerys thought it best not to scare you.”

“Jon…he…he sent you to me?”

Lady bowed her head. “He did.”

“So, you’re not exactly a stray…”

“No.”

“Why – why did he send you to me?”

Lady gave her the equivalent of a dog smile. “To watch over you. He wishes his future queen to be protected at all costs.”

Sansa scrambled to her feet. “I am not his Queen,” she hissed. She threw her head back and shouted, “I am not your Queen, do you hear me?!”

“He hears you,” Lady said. “ _Everyone_ can hear you.”

Sansa looked back at Lady, incensed with arrogant Kings who thought they could just have what – or who – they wanted. _Arrogant, manipulative ass_ , she thought bitterly. “Can you take me to him?”

Lady bowed her head. “That's the plan! Let's go.”

xxxxxx

Sansa had been mistaken when she’d thought the Faery Realm looked exactly the same as the human realm. As Lady led her down a path lined by white-capped mushrooms, she found the grass greener, the trees taller and _stronger_ somehow, and the air sweet like the flowers her mother had planted in her garden. The same flowers King Jon infused with his faery magick to make them grow strong and beautiful. While other flowers died within a week when cut, her mother’s lasted for months thanks to Jon.

 _Thanks to Jon_ , she thought with a sneer.

All of this was _thanks to Jon._

She whipped her head to the side when she caught another glimpse of something shimmering out of the corner of her eye. When she looked, it was gone. She’d been seeing things like that out of the corner of her eye since she and Lady started down the path. A flash of yellow, pink, blue, indigo, violet, green - a rainbow of colors she would see flashes off, and then when she would look to see what it was, they were gone. 

When they came upon a clearing on the side of the path, Sansa caught a glimpse of water and she stopped to stare at the way the water shone in the light. It shone like diamonds, and it took her breath away. 

“Do you want to see the water?” Lady asked.

Sansa nodded and started to step off the path. She stopped and looked at Lady. “Can we? I mean, is it safe for me to step off the path?”

Lady smiled again. “With a guide you can.”

Lady took the lead again, leading Sansa to the clearing and a cropping of large rocks surrounding the shimmering water, closing it in and making it appear private. It was then that Sansa noticed steam coming off of it. She knelt on the rock under her and stuck her hand in. It was hot, but not too hot. She looked at Lady in surprise. “Hot springs? Here?”

Lady sat beside her. “It is naked to the human eye in your realm. It is protected by us, meaning that no human can pollute what they cannot see. Our realm is sometimes in danger of being ruined by humans. We do what we can to protect it and that means hiding things when and where we can.”

Tinkling laughter caught Sansa’s attention and she looked back over to the hot springs and found a trio of small faeries dressed in blue shimmering dresses circling the water, their hands joined together. Sansa smiled as she watched them. This was what one thought of when they thought of faeries – small, Tinkerbell-like dresses, and tinkling laughter.

They stopped short when they saw her though. They turned so they stood in a line and their bodies grew until their legs were firmly in the water. The looks on their faces were solemn as they strode forward to her, their heads bowed.

“My Queen,” they said in unison. “Welcome to the Realm.”

Sansa stared at them. “I—I’m not—”

“Thank you, ladies,” Lady said politely and looked at Sansa pointedly. 

Sansa sighed and nodded her head to the water sprites. “Good day, ladies. Thank you.”

She nodded to Lady and her dog led the way back to the path.

“Does everyone here think I’m his Queen?” she asked Lady when they were far enough away from the water sprites.

“Yes,” Lady said simply.

“Why me? Do you know? Why me, Lady? Why not another Faery just like him?”

“Because you have heart, Sansa. Because you care unlike other humans.”

**Flashback**

_Sansa muttered to herself, cursing the assholes who had come into the woods to party and had left behind a mess of bottles and trash. When she ambled through the forest she often carried with her a trash bag to pick up the random garbage she would find. Today she might have more than she could fit in the bag. She was squatting on the ground, grabbing at the mess when movement out of the corner of her eye startled her. She looked up to find a man with snug black pants tucked into riding boots, and a loose fitting shirt that billowed slightly in the breeze. He was smiling at her, and she thought that while he was rather gorgeous, she really hoped he wasn’t going to hack her up into little pieces._

_“Hello,” he said, the timbre of his voice deep, a little rough._

_“Hi,” she said warily and darted a look around them, looking for accomplices or a weapon._

_“Do you know who made this mess?” he asked, gesturing to the trash on the ground._

_Sansa shook her head. “I don’t. I happened upon it.”_

_“You didn’t make it, but you feel like you should be the one to clean it up?”_

_She frowned at him. “Well, who else is going to do it?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you make it? You and a bunch of your asshole friends? Are you LARPing or something?”_

_He frowned. “LARPing?”_

_“Forget it.”_

_“I assure you that I did not make the mess. It troubles me to see it though.”_

_Sansa nodded as she looked around. “I just don’t understand the point in littering. It’s not good for the animals, it looks terrible…” She sighed._

_He came closer, squatted down before her, and held out a hand. “I’m King Jaehaerys of the Faery Realm, but you may call me Jon. And you are?”_

**End Flashback**

Sansa asked Lady to stop so she could dig into her backpack for water and a breakfast bar just to take the edge off her growing hunger. She remembered how she'd almost gone running for the hills when Jon had introduced herself to her, but she'd humored him because, well, she'd wanted to see how elaborate his story was. How much detail could he give before he caved and admitted he was pulling one over on her. But then she'd watched him heal a tree with a broken branch and she'd found herself convinced. 

“He hasn’t hurt my brother has he?” Sansa asked Lady as they continued on.

“He would not hurt your brother, Sansa. You know that.”

Yeah, she did. It was stupid to ask that. “He did it to get me here though, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly is his plan here? Make me eat or drink something so I can’t leave? Make me dance so I forget myself?” Sansa asked.

Lady didn’t answer.

“Can you at least tell me how much longer until we’re – holy shit. Are those gnomes?”

Sansa stopped abruptly to stare the little men with the pointed ears and pointed hats, talking to themselves and gesturing to the tall white birch that shone almost silver in the light.

They stopped talking abruptly and looked at her. They wore matching looks of annoyance, but then they did a double take and bowed.

Sansa scowled. She couldn’t wait to see Jon and give him a big fucking piece of her mind for telling everyone in his realm she was his Queen when she was most certainly not.

“Are we there yet?” Sansa snapped at Lady.

“Just ahead.”

Good. Sansa worked out her argument in her mind as they walked. The words manipulative, pompous, arrogant, and ass were part of her speech.

“Here we are,” Lady said.

Sansa looked up and stopped walking. “Wow.”

It was like a castle, but on a smaller scale, and it appeared almost abandoned with ivy and other green plants overtaking the stone and twining all around it. There were lights on in the inside, a glow that reminded Sansa of the sunset.

Outside the castle was an enormous courtyard with tables and chairs made of stone and wood. Bright dewy flowers sat in the middle of each table and there was baby’s breath strung like lights around the perimeter wrapped around the surrounding trees.

There was a long banquet table set up near the castle and there were elves and gnomes and faeries going this way and that, adjust this, hanging that, and straightening that. 

“There is to be a feast tonight, Sansa,” Lady told her. “In your honor.”

Sansa looked down at her. “In – in m—my honor?”

Lady bowed her yes. Yes.

Just then a heavyset faery with a blue dress came running toward them. She reminded Sansa of Merriweather from _Sleeping Beauty_ and Sansa ducked her head to hide her smile.

“Oh good, you’re here, you’re here!” the faery exclaimed. She even sounded like Merriweather.

“Your Highness,” the faery said and curtsied to Sansa.

“Please don’t call me that. I’m not a Queen,” Sansa said.

The faery and Lady exchanged looks. Sansa sighed and nodded to the castle. “Is the King inside? I’d like to see him.”

“Not yet, Your – er, Sansa.”

“What is your name?” Sansa demanded.

The faery blinked. “Periwinkle.”

“Of course it is,” Sansa said. “Periwinkle, I want to see King Jaehaerys now. And I also want my brother brought to me. If those things don’t happen, I’m going to tear this place apart.”

“You would do that? Ruin all the hard work that’s been done in your honor?”

Sansa whipped around to face the man – er, faery – responsible for all this. He looked amused which only infuriated Sansa even more. She marched toward him, intent on hollering at him, when he put a finger to her lips. “Now, now, Sansa. Mind your temper.”

“Where’s my brother?” she hissed, batting his hand away.

“He’s perfectly safe, Sansa. In fact, he’s playing right now.”

“I want to see him.”

Jon nodded slowly and offered his arm. “Allow me to take you to him then.”

Sansa looked at his proffered arm and then up at him. With a sigh she took his arm and allowed him to lead her away.

She tried to ignore his scent – pine needles and bergamot – and how strong his arm felt under her hand. He was a solid presence beside her, but then he always was. Whenever he would come to her when she went for a walk in the forest, she always felt protected with him right beside her. And, as always, she could feel his eyes on her, watching her.

“What do you think of the Realm?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. 

He laughed. “That sounded hard for you to admit.”

“I’m not happy with you right now," she muttered. 

“I’m sure you are not, but I did warn you, Sansa.”

She stopped, pulling her arm from his, and glared at him. “You tricked me. You stole my brother and left this – this _thing_ in his place. How dare you do such a thing to my family?”

“They are none the wiser. Only you were able to tell well enough. I had to do something to draw you here. I grow impatient waiting for you, Sansa.”

“You know that this is not what I want."

He stepped in her space and her breath caught. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up so that she was looking at him, their faces inches part. “But do you want _me_?” he asked.

She swallowed hard and found herself leaning into him before she caught herself and shook her head, stepping away from him.

He chuckled. “Stubborn. That’s what you are.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Hello, pot? This is the kettle. You’re black.”

He laughed out loud. “And you wonder why I want you.”

"I'm not Queen material, Jon. I'm human. I'm not part of the court, I don't know the rules..."

"Have you ever wondered, my love, why you can see me when no one else can?"

She pondered this for a minute. "Well, like the hot springs I saw today that your people have cleverly hidden from human eyes, perhaps it's just a matter of you doing the same thing with me, only in reverse."

He grinned. "My clever girl. It is possible to do the reverse, but it would take a lot more work. You can see me, Sansa, because you have the gift of sight. Not many have it, and for some it takes much work. But you, you've always had it. Your love of nature, your desire to protect it and be in it - it strengthens the gift you already have. You, my dear, are connected to this land. It is a part of you, and you are a part of it. It's not just me who sees it. My people have watched you - they've seen how you clean up the litter left in the forest. They see how you leave breadcrumbs for the animals. They love you, Sansa. They recognize you as their Queen and not just because I desire it."

"You should have led with all that when you were telling me what you wanted," she told him. She tilted her head to the side and gazed at him thoughtfully. "What would I - that is, what would a Queen's job be here?"

Jon reached out and took her hands in his. "You would rule beside me and continue to take care of our land, just in a deeper and more meaningful way. One thing I would like to accomplish is to find other humans who share the sight and the love of the land and work with them in preserving it."

This did appeal to her in a profound way; she had been studying environmental science in school after all. The destruction of land, of natural resources, of endangered species - it made her heart hurt. To be able to do something about that, and to be part of a Realm that had magick and to be a liaison of sorts as a human sounded promising. 

Jon's hands slid up her arms until he reached her face. He cupped it in his hands and drew her closer. "And you would be my wife in every sense of the word, Sansa."

Her gaze flicked to his lips and she found herself moistening hers in response. It would be a lie to say that she hadn't ever had the desire to kiss Jon. She did. Very much so. She had just told herself that she couldn't. Afraid that if she did, she would be stolen away. Or fall in love with him.

"One thing," she whispered, her gaze flying up to his intense one. 

"Yes?" he rasped. 

"If I kiss you, if I eat and I drink here - I don't want any of those things to be used to trap me here. If I do any of it, it is because I choose to do so. I know you have the power to override the rules for me. If you want me to seriously consider being your Queen, then I want to have the free will to make my decision on my own from here on out. No more tricks. And no lies."

"Faeries can't lie."

"I know, but you can certainly turn a clever phrase so that I can be tricked."

Jon sighed. "You will consider it then? You will allow me to court you?"

She smirked. "Is that what all this is? Courting me?"

"Yes."

She laughed. "You are a silly man."

"A silly man who loves you."

That, she hadn't expected. She sucked in a deep breath. "You - you love me?"

He tugged her closer. "Why do you think I keep coming to see you, Sansa? Why do you think I choose you as my Queen?"

"Because you're a control freak with stalker tendencies?"

He leaned in, his breath a puff of air across her lips. "Because I love you. I want you."

"No more tricks?" she murmured. "You'll give me free will?"

"Anything you want. Just kiss me already and put me out of—"

She pressed her lips to his before he could even finish speaking. And oh, what a kiss it was. It made her toes curl in her trainers. He tasted like dark chocolate, and she'd never had anyone kiss her before with a mixture of sweet and carnal. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she gripped his waist to keep from falling over. Oh, Good God. 

Jon broke the kiss slowly, teasing her with soft kisses until he pressed his forehead against hers. "How was that?" he asked softly, his voice a bit hoarse. 

Sansa could only think one thing: _I'm in trouble._

xxxxxxx

Jon took her to see Rickon after that, their hands entwined as they made their way through the forest to a clearing where a group of faeries were playing ball with one lone human boy. 

Rickon was having a grand time if the pure joy and the laughter bubbling out of him was anything to go by. The ball they were playing with, Sansa noticed, looked more like a giant bubble than a ball and when Jon asked if it was in fact a bubble, he grinned and asked if she wanted one. 

"Kind of, yeah," she said as if he should have known that already. 

Jon laughed. It was then that the faeries caught sight of them and they all stopped what they were doing to bow to their King. Rickon came barreling over to Sansa, talking rapidly about how much fun he was having. He ended by saying with eyes big and bright, "Sansa - Faeries are _real_!"

Sansa laughed as she knelt down and drew him into a hug. "I know, Rickon, I know."

"Jon says if you stay and become his Queen, I can come visit any time I want," Rickon told her. 

Sansa looked up at an amused Jon. "Oh, he did, did he?"

"Of course," Jon said. "Run along, little one. I'm going to show your sister around the same way I showed you."

"Take her to the waterfall! She'll like that!" Rickon shouted over his shoulder as he ran back to the group of faeries. 

Sansa frowned. "He's eaten here, hasn't he?" she asked as she stood. 

"He has. But no worry, my love. I've no intention of keeping Rickon here. Not even if you decide to leave."

Well, that was a relief. 

He offered his arm again. "Allow me to show you what could be your Kingdom, mi'lady."

With a roll of her eyes and a grin, Sansa took his arm and allowed her to escort her. 

It was just like when they rambled through the forest together, only Sansa never held onto his arm when they walked together in the past. They should have. It felt right to her, natural. The same charge in the air was there between them too, and now that Sansa knew what a kiss from him felt like, she found her thoughts returning to it often...and then drifting to what it would feel like to put her hands on all those muscles of his. 

_Bad Sansa_ , she scolded herself, and attempted to pay attention to what he was showing her instead. 

Gnomes and elves healing trees, water sprites keeping ponds clean, fields of grass and flowers that went on for miles and tickled her nose with its sweet scent. Animals that came up close to her and allowed her to pet them (it made her feel like Snow White.) Plants that stood proud and strong - and some of them even sang her a song. Homes that looked like Hobbit Houses and made Sansa wonder if Tolkien had been privy to some information...

Everything was so beautiful and the fae _worked_ together. Despite herself, Sansa found herself utterly enchanted and falling in love by the second with the Faery Realm. She was certain that was the whole point, loathe as she was to admit that Jon had been right about a few things, and her desire to protect this place at all costs being one of them.

Rickon was right, too. She did like the waterfall the best. Another gem hidden from human eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes away from it - how it shimmered in the light, almost blinding her, and how good it felt when the cool mist blanketed her face. 

When they returned to the castle, Jon turned her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Much to Sansa's disappointment. "What do you think?" he asked. 

She was afraid to tell him too much for she feared giving him too much hope. "Would I be allowed to return home to visit my family if I was to stay?" she asked, fiddling with the tie at the base of his neck on his white shirt.

"I would not deny you any opportunity to see your family, my love. As I have watched you, I have also watched them. They are trustworthy; they would not betray us."

"No, they wouldn't," Sansa murmured and glanced at his lips. 

"Does my Lady wish for another kiss?"

She nodded and began to lean in. Jon kissed her, but quickly. When he saw her pout, he laughed and kissed her forehead. "Come, allow me to take you to your rooms. I am sure Periwinkle is beside herself wondering when she'll be able to prepare you for tonight's feast."

xxxxxxx

Sansa's head spun as she reclined back in the tub. The warm water soothed her tired muscles, and the lavender scent wafting off of it relaxed her. Just like in medieval times, she was taking a bath in her room, tucked under a window to allow her a view outside. Periwinkle assured her the window was enchanted so that no one could peer inside and see her. 

Sansa found herself alternating between watching the goings on outside and looking at her room in all its blue and lavender glory. It was gorgeous, and Sansa knew from touching it that the blue bedspread was as soft as silk to the touch and it felt so light and airy, she feared it would break apart if she pulled it over her. The room glowed softly from the light of flowers - that's right, _flowers_. Bluebells. Just like her eyes. The canopy was draped with sheer lavender fabric and it sparkled just so when the light hit it. The tapestries that hung from the stone walls depicted scenes of beautiful landscapes – the forest, the sea, meadows, and verdant fields. The colors here were brighter, richer, more…well, _magickal._

The furniture was of the finest wood, and it shone like gold, giving off its own glow. Everything glowed here, but in the most dazzling and soothing way possible, like a salt lamp. 

The inside of the castle was just as majestic as her room. The throne room held a single chair, carved out of wood and smooth to the touch. The floor was made up of black and white marble, and the steps leading up to the throne had a carpet of purple rather than red. And everything, Jon assured her, was made of all natural materials. Sansa didn't doubt it.

Sansa was beginning to imagine herself here. More than just the beauty of the Realm, and how she could help protect it and maintain it, there was Jon. The sometimes enigmatic man who would be her husband.

That kiss had done something to her, and she knew now that avoiding his kiss all this time had not been solely because she feared him stealing her away, but because she knew what it would do to her to kiss him. It had tipped her over from being attracted to him and half-in-love with him to being completely…oh God…in love with him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him in here with her. How it would be to bathe while he undressed and they discussed their day. Or how it would be to share the tub, to wash one another. How they would emerge from their rooms together, ready to face court and tackle any problems of the day. They would be a force to be reckoned with, but Sansa had already known that.

When she thought back on the course of their relationship, a year of walking together, talking and flirting together, and laughing together, Sansa knew it had been building for quite some time. She loved to tease him. She got excited when she saw him coming. And his voice always did things to her. So many times she had fought the urge to run outside at night when she saw him out there, calling her silently to join him...

She’d told herself she didn't want him that way, but she did. She always had. That didn't mean she liked how he lured her here, but she could admit that she liked the idea of being his Queen and having those kisses every single day. And he did say that she could see her family still which he really should have led with long ago... 

Periwinkle bustled into the room then and looked over at her as she ducked further under the water. "Time to get ready, my Lady. The feast is in an hour."

xxxxxxxxxxx

The bodice of Sansa's dress was green and sheer, except for the places where material in the shape of ivy-covered her breasts from prying eyes. The skirt of the dress billowed out like a ball gown with shades of green and white. It was absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was left long and loose, and her makeup was done lightly, making her blue eyes pop. 

When she emerged from her room, Jon was waiting for her on the other side. He took her breath away. He wore snug black breeches, boots, and a green top that was loose in the sleeves. His shirt was the same color as her dress and she beamed at him as he looked her over heatedly. 

"Sansa," he breathed. "You are a vision."

"So are you, Your Highness."

He smiled and held out a hand. "Shall we?" She slipped her hand into his and allowed him to lead her to the feast, a bit disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her.

He informed her that Rickon would be joining them for the meal, but then he would be brought to bed for the night by the faeries that had been keeping a watch over him. 

As soon as they emerged from the castle, they were met with the overwhelming sound of cheering from all in attendance. Sansa felt herself growing shy under all the attention. It appeared as though the courtyard was filled to the brim. She noted now, too, that the flowers on the table glowed, as did the baby's breath that was hung about them. There was also floating balls of light that moved this way and that, shedding enough light on the feast so that everyone could see what they were doing. It was a mesmerizing sight.

Jon led Sansa to their table, set up near the front of the castle. Rickon was already seated flanked by two faeries. He ran to Sansa as soon as he saw her and she hefted him up into his arms and asked him if he was having fun. He nodded enthusiastically. 

"Do you miss home at all?" Sansa asked him. 

"Yes, but they're all right without for now, right Sansa? Jon told me you would bring me home when you got here and not to worry."

"He's right. There is nothing to worry about.”

"You should have some sweetmeats. And the honey buns!" He kicked his legs, letting her know he wanted down and she set him loose. 

Jon then led her to their seats and pulled out her chair for her. He then sat down beside her and everyone in the courtyard followed suit by sitting at their own tables. 

The food was delicious and Sansa had to stop herself from eating and drinking too much lest she end up in a food coma. She could see why humans couldn’t stop themselves from partaking. Not only did it look mouth-watering delicious, it actually was.

Sometime after Rickon was carried off to bed, her little brother nearly falling asleep already at the table, the dancing began. She watched in wonder at the faeries, elves, gnomes, sprites, and nymphs who danced and danced and danced with wild abandon. She’d read about such things, but hadn’t experienced it. She felt the urge to dance, but opted not to. She did not want to be lost to it, no matter if Jon had promised he would not allow such a thing to happen. Besides, he seemed perfectly content to watch the goings-on without partaking, and Sansa was perfectly content to sit with him and just watch.

After a while, Jon told her he wanted to introduce her to his advisors and other members of court. With her arm yet again entwined with his, Sansa let Jon take her about to meet this faery and that faery. He introduced her as though he was so proud of her he was bursting at the seams. It made her feel so cherished, so cared for, and so very wanted.

No one had ever made her feel that way before. It was addicting.

Before long, the events of the day caught up with Sansa and she found herself struggling to hide her yawns. Jon noticed though. He noticed everything.

“Would you like to retire, Sansa?” he asked softly in her ear, causing her to shiver.

She nodded, looking up at him sheepishly. He smiled at her, his eyes reverent as he gazed down at her. He announced to the revelers that their King and guest of honor were retiring and to continue their fun for as long as they wished. Another cheer erupted from the crowd and Sansa laughed with delight. 

Jon escorted her to her room and then gripped her hands in his when they stood in front of her door. “Did you have fun?” he asked.

“I did,” she murmured, feeling quite shy all of a sudden. Would he kiss her? She hoped so. Then she wondered what she’d do if he asked if he could join her inside.

She just might say yes. But she also might be a little drunk on faery wine.

“You’ve had a long day, and I’m sure you have much to think about,” Jon said softly. He leaned in, brushed his lips against hers, and then stepped back. If he saw how she swayed into him seeking more of his kisses, he was kind enough not to say. Instead, he bid her goodnight and left.

Sansa knew logically that this was the best thing he could have done. Asking him inside would have been a mistake. She most certainly needed to think clearly about her decision and consider all aspects of the decision not just her lust, or the fact that she was rather certain she was in love with him.

It was rather funny that he should choose now to give her space after all he’d done to get her here. And part of her wondered if leaving her wanting was all part of his big plan.

With a harrumph, Sansa let herself inside her room. It wouldn’t do any good to have Jon find her gazing longingly after him.

xxxxxxxx

Come morning, Sansa wasn’t any closer to a decision. Part of her wanted to stay in this magickal place with Jon. She wanted his arms around her, his kisses, and his love. The other part of her feared it. She was all of twenty-one. What did she know of being a wife? More than that, what did she know of being a Queen?

She didn’t let Jon know about her inner turmoil over breakfast, but merely told him that she wished to return home with Rickon so that she could think about his offer. He wanted her to stay; to explore the Realm more, but Sansa insisted that she return home and that he take that thing he’d left in Rickon’s place with him.

He wanted to argue. It was written all over his face. But, in the end, he’d agreed.

When it came time for them to part ways once at her house, and he was in possession of the changeling, Sansa launched herself at him and kissed him fervently. She simply could not wait any longer. He'd been quiet and broody all afternoon and she hated it. 

“Sansa,” he gasped and clutched at her.

“Just give me some time,” she whispered.

“The end of the week,” he told her.

She nodded. “Okay.”

He kissed her hard, possessively, leaving her aching and wanting more of him.

And then he was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sansa missed him. Two days of him not appearing to her, and she found herself hoping that if she took a long walk in the woods, or went out in her backyard for long periods of time, he would appear to her.

He didn’t.

Rickon had gone on as though nothing at all had happened. In fact, he truly didn’t seem to remember what had happened at all. Sansa figured it had to be faery magick. No doubt Jon couldn’t take the risk of Rickon running around telling everyone about the Faery Realm.

This struck fear in her – if she decided not to become his Queen would he make her forget? Would she forget their talks? Their walks? The Faery Realm altogether? 

The prospect of that depressed her. Granted with no memory of it, she wouldn't know to feel as though something was missing, but at the same time she felt that after having known Jon, she would _feel_ something was missing. As though she would subconsciously measure every man after him against him. 

They would all come up lacking. 

And wasn't that telling. 

On the third day she made her way into the forest after school and called for him. He didn't appear. She stayed out for over two hours and nothing. Despaired, she returned home. Had he given up? Had something happened? Did he decide he didn't want her anymore?

That night, as she sat in her window seat, mulling over their time together, he came. He looked up at her window, and Sansa crept as quickly as she could, with her heart racing, down the stairs and right outside. She didn't even put on shoes. 

Jon was just walking away when she came running out. "Jon!" she called out, uncaring anymore if anyone heard her. He turned and she lunged at him, throwing her arms around him. "I missed you so much!" 

His arms came around her, securing her against him tightly. "I missed you as well," he rasped. "So much so that I couldn't stay away any longer. I wasn't sure you'd even see me, but I just wanted to be near you."

"I saw you," she whispered and then looked up at him. "And I always feel you, Jon."

He drew her up close against him, her feet leaving the ground as he kissed her passionately. "Sansa," he croaked as he began peppering her face with kisses. 

"I've made my decision," she said coyly. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Only if it's what I want to hear," he laughed softly into her neck. 

"I love you, Jon, and I want to be your Queen," she whispered in his ear. 

He froze and let out a puff of air across her neck, causing her to shiver. "Do you meant it?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Yes."

Jon lifted his head and gazed down at her with so much love etched onto his face and in his eyes that it nearly brought Sansa to her knees. Slowly, he framed her face in his hands and then kissed her slowly yet no less passionately. She felt dizzy, and when the kiss broke and she opened her eyes she found that she was not outside anymore. 

She was in a bedroom, but it was not her own. 

The familiar glow of lights from the bluebells told her that she was in Jon's bedroom. She stepped back and looked around in awe. It was as big as a football field. It held not just a bed and bureaus, but a desk, a sofa, and a loveseat. The tapestries on the wall were of the Faery Realm. 

"Wow," she breathed. 

"Do you like our chambers, my love?" he asked as he drew her back into his arms and nuzzled at her neck. 

"I love them," she murmured. "How did you get us here so fast?"

He pulled his head back and smiled at her. "Magick."

She smiled and drew his face down to hers. "Now that I'm here, what is it you are planning to do with me?"

"If you will allow it, I would like to make love to you, my sweet girl."

"I definitely allow it," she said with a smile. "It's been a year of foreplay wouldn't you say?"

He laughed. "I would."

With a mischievous grin, Sansa undid the tie of his cloak and pushed it from his shoulders. It fell in a heap to the floor. Next, she pushed his shirt up. Jon laughed and helped her discard it. "Eager, darling?" he asked. 

"Very," she said and leaned in to press kisses along his torso. 

Jon groaned and slipped his fingers into her hair. "I love you, Sansa."

She lifted her mouth off of him and leaned up to kiss him. "I love you, too."

"Your turn," he said huskily and fingered the hem of her tank top. 

With a grin, Sansa rid herself of it. Jon's eyes went wide as he stared at her. He sucked in a breath and lifted his hands to her breasts, cupping them in his hands. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "My Queen."

He sucked one breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue against her nipple until it went hard, and then he treated the other to the same treatment. When the cool air met her flesh, her nipple hardened even further. 

Sansa kissed him hungrily as her hands went to the tie of his breeches and soon she was pushing them down over his hips. After that, it became a rush to undress. 

At the sight of Jon’s naked body, Sansa nearly lost her ability to breathe. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such perfection before! He was all hard muscle and rippling abs – and a long, hard cock that made her mouth water.

Jon drew her naked body up against his and kissed her hungrily as he walked her backwards to his bed. When her knees hit the edge, Sansa eagerly climbed to the middle of the bed and was about to turn around onto her back, when Jon stopped her, pressing his body against her back. Sansa looked over her shoulder at him and kissed her sweetly as he caressed her body gently with his hands. She could feel his hard cock against her ass and she pressed it against him. 

He moaned. "Sansa."

“How do you want me?” she breathed.

“Every which way I can have you,” he muttered and nipped at her shoulder. “Turn around. I want to taste you.”

Sansa bit her lip as she turned over onto her back. Her loser boyfriends before had never wanted to go down on her before. In fact, they’d made her feel self-conscious about it in the process.

He seemed to sense something was amiss and furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’ve never – that is, no one’s ever…”

“Say it, Sansa.”

“No one’s ever put their mouth on me before.”

He broke into a grin. “Good. I get to be the first.” And with that, he lay down on his belly and shouldered her legs apart.

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation. She hissed slowly as he licked up her slit and moaned.

“Is it gross?” she asked as she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him.

He shook his head, grinning. “Like ambrosia, my sweet.”

He dove back in, suckling at her clit, which made Sansa lose her breath for a whole different reason. And then he started moving it in circles around it and she flopped back on the bed, spreading her legs even further.

“Feel good, sweet girl?” he murmured as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

“Yes,” she hissed, her head moving to the side. “Please don’t stop, Jon.”

“I don’t plan on it until you cum for me,” he murmured.

It didn’t take him long. Not with that expert mouth and tongue of his. She cried out, her hips lifting of the bed seeking more of his mouth. Jon lapped at her until she couldn’t take any more.

Sansa reached for him and he eased into her arms, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself on his tongue and she didn’t even care. All she wanted was him.

She felt him at her core and she instinctively rubbed herself against him. Jon got up on his knees between her splayed thighs and teased the tip of his cock against her folds. Sansa bit her lip and nodded at the question in his eyes.

Slowly, Jon eased himself inside her, letting her feel every glorious inch of him. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she dug the back of her head into the mattress. “More,” she demanded.

He didn’t disappoint. He set up an easy rhythm inside her as he lifted her hips up so that the backs of her thighs slapped against the tops of his.

“Oh, God, Jon,” she moaned.

“Come here,” he rasped and pulled her up so that she was straddling him. With their arms around one another, Sansa was able to post up and down his cock. And with the angle, her clit rubbed just so against his shaft each time.

“Jon, I’m going to cum,” she gasped.

“Let go, my love,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “Let me feel you…”

With a scream, she came around him, her muscles tensing as her inner muscles pulsed.

“Sansa!” he shouted hoarsely, gripping her hips hard and stabbing deep inside her. He held himself there and she felt him pulse and cum deep inside her.

Boneless now, Sansa slumped against him. Jon pressed kisses along the side of her face, his breathing slowly turning to normal.

“I’m so glad I decided to marry you,” she mumbled sleepily.

He laughed as he eased her down onto the bed. “I’m glad too. It only took a year to convince you that you loved me too.”

She smiled as she swept the tips of her fingers along the side of his face and then through his curly locks. “Better late than never, right?”

He looked solemn now as he nodded. “Definitely.” He kissed her sweetly and then rolled them to their sides. Sansa nestled right into him, tucking her head under his chin. “Are you going to fall asleep on me now, my love?” he asked as he ran a hand up and down her back slowly.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I haven’t slept well since Rickon and I returned home. I missed you too much.”

She could see the smile she knew was spreading across his face.

“Then rest,” he said gently. “We have plans to make in the morning. Tomorrow night though – don’t plan on getting any rest.”

Sansa grinned against his chest as sleep slowly overcame her. She had a feeling there was never going to be a dull moment as Queen Sansa of the Faery Realm.

**The End**


	4. Oh, For A Muse of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa was taught as a little girl to pray to the gods for guidance. So when she is suffering as Ramsay's captive, she prays again. The gods give her strange words and images to comfort her. Those words draw her closer to her half-brother Jon, even as she resists the attraction. Finally, she runs away in a snowstorm to try to escape the pull she feels towards Jon. Jon goes to rescue her, and Sansa learns he struggles with attraction of his own. Bit of a shorter chapter here and kind of a change of pace, hope you all don't mind! :)

When Sansa was very little, and suffered from bad dreams, Old Nan would tell her to pray to the old gods for comfort.

“They know, sweet child.” Old Nan’s voice was high and creaky, but she spoke with an authority that Sansa recognized even at the age of three. “They see deeper and further than any of us. They know more than the crows and the Children of the Forest. They know our ends and our beginnings, and they will guide you.”

Old Nan’s kiss was dry as parchment on Sansa’s brow, but the words worked their way into her mind. Sansa murmured prayers to keep the shadows at bay, and the gods granted her sweet words to lull her to sleep.

_Love and beauty._

_Safe passage_.

Colors and images would come to her too. Knights on horseback, silver lyres and blue roses at her feet.

So when Sansa finds herself wasting away, losing herself drop by drop in Ramsay's keeping, she begs the gods again. They have not answered her for some time. Not in the godswood at King's Landing, nor when Littlefinger whispered in her ear. Thus she expects no answer, and no comfort.

Sansa counts to a thousand after Ramsay shuts the door for what she fervently hopes is the last time until sunrise. She takes a deep, cleansing breath and sends her silent plea the way Old Nan taught her. The gods return a message.

_Fire and blood._

Crackling flames and drops of blood on snow. The phrase is brutal, but the tenor is not. Sansa can't fathom why the gods send her the words of House Targaryen. But she feels her own blood sing in response. Where she'd been shivering moments before under the thin and torn sheets, warmth now seeps through her body.

These strange, wild dreams ease her suffering. Sansa finds she has strength enough to withstand Ramsay’s fists and cuts with some dignity intact. She lets flames flicker in front of her eyes when Ramsay hisses at her, and the sibilant sound grows fainter. The pain Ramsay inflicts with his knives recedes when Sansa recites _fire and blood, fire and blood_ in a litany that sees her through to a new dawn.

The feeling of heat and safety surges when she throws herself into Jon's arms at Castle Black, and he holds her tight to his chest. She attributes it to kinship. At night, her body tells her something different. She tosses and turns in a pleasant fire of her own, yearning for something she thought she'd lost the ability to feel.

She and Jon fight. They disagree. They snap at one another. But security settles in her stomach when Sansa is near Jon, and it only solidifies when they take Winterfell back. Inch by inch, she draws closer to him and realizes in a rush she wants to burn with him. Like a wife. Like a lover.

She supposes the gods have forsaken her, or that Ramsay’s parting words were right. She's twisted inside now, tainted by his cruelty and his sadism. Why else would she lust after her half-brother?

Sansa fights the visions and the whispers with every ounce of her being, even when they're the only soothing sensations in her life. When Jon looks at her – and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows he looks at her differently than a brother should – the urge to go to him, to kiss him, to beg him into her bed becomes overwhelming.

So the day Jon kisses her forehead, the brush of his lips igniting lightning all the way to her toes, she can’t stand it any longer. Sansa runs, leaving Winterfell’s walls again, blind as to where she's going, hoping only that distance will cool her fever.

Sansa is a strategist. Sansa is a survivor. Yet Sansa is not a wildling, and the only camps she made were with Theon. Soon she's freezing, her teeth chattering as she wanders further into the forest. She blows on her gloved hands in a losing battle to keep warm. She’d donned a thick, fur-lined wool cloak she thought no wind could penetrate. Now she pulls it around her shoulders in vain. She slowly succumbs to the cold gusts of wind and begins to stumble on the frozen ground.

A horse whickers in the distance while Sansa leans against a weirwood tree. Its branches are stripped of leaves, stark against the winter sky. Ramsay told her once that this was how her life would end, after she'd given him sons. There would be a hunt and she would be the prey. Perhaps he was right.

That soothing feeling floods through her again as the horse draws closer. A burning light, a burning knight, appear before her and she catches a glimpse of a crown glinting on his brow before she collapses in the snow. She hears a deep voice call her name.

It’s Jon. He’s found her somehow. The snow is falling thick and fast around them, but he manages to make a fire and pitch a tent. He coaxes her inside. _No_ , she thinks, _no, I won't be able to keep myself from reaching for you_ but she stumbles through the flap all the same.

“Jon, Jon leave, leave now, I can't stop it–” She’s pleading with him but he won’t listen, he’s wrapping her in furs. Jon’s distracted, desperate. She's still dull, nearly numb from the frigid air, and can only catch snatches of Jon's speech – “heavy storm" and “die from the cold” and “please, please let me help you, we have to do this, love, I’m sorry but it’s the fastest way to warm you–”

Sansa’s not sure what she craves more. The contact with his bare skin now that he’s taken off their clothes and pulled the furs over both of their heads, or the sound of him saying _love_ again.

“Jon, you have to let me go.” Every action she takes belies her words. She laces her fingers with his, inhaling his scent. She breathes in time with the rise and fall of his chest, and feels herself relax.

They're in their own world now. The storm outside is far away and the fire that warms her comes from being entwined with Jon. The voices are louder, assuring her _this is right, this is best_ and she can't trust her own mind. When he tilts her chin so he can look at her, she barely keeps herself from weeping.

“Sansa, why? Why did you run? What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Jon has calmed a little too, though there's still a note of urgency in his tone, and his grey eyes are wide. He’s told her they’re out of danger, that he’s sent the horse back. He’s tried to reassure her that other men will find them in the morning, to rescue both of them. She can’t bear to tell Jon that she needs to be rescued from one thing only - her desire to be here, with him. That’s why she had to run.

“I can’t, Jon, I’m not–” she struggles, using all her skill and strength to skip over how she’s mad, how she hears voices telling her Jon's her lover. “H-How did you know to find me?” She’d scarcely been gone an hour, and the white blizzard had come upon her suddenly.

Jon's face contorts. He rests his forehead on hers. “I sense when you’re in pain, Sansa. I could feel it, the cold on my skin. Do you...do you hear them too, the gods?” He sounds ragged, wracked with guilt. Sansa feels a flare of hope.

“Yes. They tell me ‘fire and blood,' that I’m...I’m to be with you. What do they say to you?”

Jon hesitates, then lets out a long sigh. “Winter’s rose.” He traces her cheek. “You’re – you’re my wife, Sansa. My queen. I don’t know how but I see you, by my side, with a crown in your shining hair and it’s all that makes sense in this world.”

 _Maybe_ , she thinks, maybe if it's both of them together, then the weight of their shared sin might be less.

She blinks back tears. “For how long?

“Since I saw you at Castle Black.” His voice is rough and wrecked. He trails his hand over her braid and it's Sansa who moves closer, until Jon presses his lips to hers.

She thought she’d die in this fire. Instead when Jon kisses her, soft and deep, as if he's asking her a question, it sizzles along her veins and the chorus is louder, _yes_. She’s not sure if she’s speaking or they’re singing. Sansa opens her mouth to him, cradling his head, feeling bolder each moment. There’s no wind, no ice, just Jon’s fingers sweeping down her neck and the sweet heat of his tongue, his hand caressing her stomach with feather-light touches as she parts her thighs for him.

“I fought this for so long, Sansa." Jon's exhausted and elated at the same time. He kisses her like he's fearful he might not have the chance to again, skimming his hands over the dips and contours of her body. The noises they make should be obscene, but they sound sacred - her small gasp when he cups her breasts, and his hitched breath when he rolls carefully on top of her. They're bound together, body and soul. She feels the depth of his love reverberate in her mind and he can feel hers too. She’s not sure which of them moans as he enters her. She feels no shame, only fullness and pressure and a sweet ache as he rocks into her.

There's a spark inside her that grows stronger and she buries her hands in his hair, chasing it, overcome with need. “Jon, please, I–” She’s half-panting, half-crying, and he soothes her. Soft and tender, stroking her, stoking the flame. “I'm yours, Sansa, hush, sweet girl, it’s all right, I have you, I’m not letting go." His dark gaze never leaves hers. She burns brighter, constricting to a single point. She's calling out Jon's name as his thrusts become erratic. She feels a final pulse of heat before she's blinded by white light, and a cascade of pleasure courses through her.

***

When Sansa wakes, a faint, warm breeze trickles through the tent flap. As she and Jon emerge, the fragrance of spring is in the air. The weirwood tree has blossomed overnight, with red leaves swaying against a bright blue sky. She kneels, touching springy moss between her fingers. The snow has vanished, leaving green grass and a forest full of birdsong. She and Jon look at each other, entranced, and he takes her hand as the first of their men crest over the top of the hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're asking yourself whether I wrote a story where Jon and Sansa literally bring back spring by making love - yes, yes, I did, and I'm not sorry for it. :) 
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful and talented @alittlestardustcaught for being an amazing beta reader for this fanfic!
> 
> Title from the prologue to one of my favorite Shakespeare plays, Henry V.  
> I am myrish-lace-love on tumblr if you want to say hi!


	5. Save My Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets someone he had thought lost to him in the Winterfell godswood who shows him a potential dream of spring. But, there is something he must do first.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,”he whispered. Pain washed over him. _Stick them with the pointy end._ When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold…

He drifted, like a white feather in the winds of winter, drifted alone in the cold and the dark. Then, he felt the warmth and the dark was gone. Jon looked, not understanding, he had not been here in many years, had wondered if he ever would again. It was the Winterfell heart tree, the face stared back at him, stern and cruel, watching him. There was no cold, no snow in the Winterfell godswood. He could see the sun, feel its warmth. The woods were almost the same as he remembered them, but something was wrong. He heard no birds chirping in the branches, no flutter in nearby shrubs to signal the small creatures hiding away. The leaves of the weirwood did not rustle or move in the wind but stood still and unmoving. _Something is not right…._

“Hello, Jon.”

That was impossible, that was the voice of a dead man. He turned away from the heart tree, towards that voice, feeling both terror and hope all at once. It was Robb, his beloved brother and once constant companion. It felt the ultimate cruelty, Jon had grieved for the man he had loved and now he must confront the loss once again. The old gods were hard ones, he must have committed a grievous sin to have this vision in front of him.

“Robb…” Jon’s stomach dropped, his legs grew weak.

His brother walked quickly towards him, clasping him by the shoulders and pulling him into an embrace in the way they had once done as children. Jon took in the sight of him, Robb looked exactly the same as the day he had left Winterfell. The same thick, auburn hair, the same clothing. _Even the same melting snowflakes.._ Jon looked down at his own garment, they were the same he wore on the day he left Winterfell to join the Night’s Watch. _This is wrong…_

“Robb...I heard you were dead.” He did not understand, he had been told his brother was killed at the Twins by Frey traitors.

“Aye, I am dead. So are you.” Robb looked at him, sympathetic.

Jon remembered, daggers in the dark, Melisandre had warned him. The third dagger struck him between the shoulder blades, the fourth he never felt at all, just the bitter cold. “Where are we? Is this Winterfell? Did we ever leave?”

Robb stood there, his expression one of grief and sorrow. “I suppose this is Winterfell of a sorts. This was our home, once, long ago.”

Jon did not understand, was not sure he wanted to understand. If they were dead and gone, why did they appear at Winterfell? “Why are we here?”

“I need your help,  I need you to save my sister.”

_Arya? I failed, I never saved her, I tried and they killed me for it._

“Arya is my sister too, you know that,” said Jon, his voice was sharp. It angered him to hear Robb speak this way, he knew Jon had always been close to their little sister. Bastard brother or no, it had never made a bit of difference to her.

“No, Sansa. She is not your sister, Jon, she never was. Come, I need to show you something.” He did not wait for an answer, merely turned and began to walk towards the edge of the godswood, closer to the guest houses and hot springs.

Jon had no choice to follow or risk losing sight of his long-lost brother. Sansa was his sister, no matter what Robb said. They had loved each other, despite their difference in station, even as distant as they had been.

Robb stopped them at the edge of the hot springs. They stood together by the muddy water, could see the steam rising from the pools. “Look, see.” Rob pointed towards two young figures a mere ten paces away.

Jon could see them and a new wave of pain overtook him, this should not be possible yet he saw. Only a short distance away, he played with Arya in the mud and dirt. They were young, he could not have yet passed his tenth nameday. Jon had almost forgotten how it felt to be so innocent, so carefree. Further away, another young figure approached, clad in a girl's blue dress, auburn hair the color of fall leaves were bound into a tight braid down her back.

Faintly, the young boy’s voice came to him, “Whatever you do, don’t tell Sansa. She’ll just run to your mother again.”

Jon saw the little red haired girl’s shoulders stiffen and her head dip before turning to quietly walk away. The two other children never even noticed her presence.

He could remember that day, they had tried to create a little village in the mud, thinking a swim after would wash away the evidence. Jon had not thought of the clothes they had been wearing.

“Do you understand what you saw?”

“An old childhood memory.” Jon dragged his eyes away from the image, turning his focus to Robb. “ I have had no word of Sansa in many moons, I would not know where to find her.” In truth, Jon had scarcely thought of Sansa, it was Arya and Robb his heart ached for.

His brother nodded. “She’s coming to you. She’s on the river now, I’ll show you.”

Robb led him to the stables where two horses awaited them in stalls. There were no other signs of life for Jon to see. “Let’s ride.”

So, they did, out through the gate and down the kings road, towards Sansa. Jon could not say how long they travelled, whether minutes or hours. He still felt the warmth but time felt stuck, Jon would swear the sun had not moved in the sky. Eventually they stopped, the river a short distance away, the water grey and brackish against the green grass next to it.

“She’s coming to you, Jon. Sansa desperately misses you, do you know that?” Robb’s voice was full of pain. The words were directed to him but it was their sister that captured Robb’s attention. He sat still, shoulders slumped forward, his lips pulled into a tight frown.  If Sansa was coming to him, it was only because Robb had failed her.

In the distance, a small ship slowly approached them, old, barely safe for travel. Jon could imagine how it would fare in Shipbreaker Bay, the storms would destroy and tear it apart. _Killing it._  He could see a womanly figure, clad in grey, hair kissed by fire blowing in the wind. _A girl in grey…_

“Robb, that ship, do you know the name?” he asked, only the merest tremble in his voice, Jon had a suspicion he already knew the answer.

“It’s called _The Dancing Horse_. You understand now, I hope.” Robb’s blue eyes bore into him, demanding an answer.

Sansa was coming for him, he did not doubt it. _A girl in grey on a dying horse._ He repeated the words to himself over and over, an endless litany in case he forgot. “I understand.” He did not understand. What did Robb believe he could do? Jon was cast away with him in this Winterfell that was not Winterfell. A dead man was a useless man.

“My brother lies, me thinks. Come, let’s return to Winterfell.” He pointed his horse towards their former home, once again assuming Jon would follow along.

It was as before, their journey was over quickly, Jon could not say how far or how long they traveled. It was only seconds until they were in a Winterfell courtyard. The place felt as dead as he was supposed to be. The forge was quiet, no sounds of steel in the training yard, no smells from the kitchens. Jon looked at the buildings all around him, the great keep and the guards hall. He could see the tops of others, a little further away. Jon seemed to be looking at the Winterfell of someone’s memories, a building stood a hand taller than it should, two more were a pace closer than they had been. Everything was as he remembered, but not quite.

“I’m tired of fighting, Robb. I could stay here, we both could.”

“No, we cannot. It is too late for me, but not for you. I failed my sister once, I chose to leave her to the Lannisters. Not again, I need you Jon, do for her what I could not.” Robb’s words came out harsh and direct, demanding an answer.

Jon felt frustrated, his brother had always been stubborn. If he was a dead man as Robb was, there was nothing he could do for Sansa. “I can’t, Robb. I couldn’t even save Arya.”

“You can and you will. Do you wish to know her fate? Do you wish to know what will happen if you do not try?” Robb wore the lord’s face he remembered their father used in front of the Stark bannermen. It had never been directed at him before. For the first time, Jon sensed the desperation coming from his brother. That frightened him.

“Robb-” He was not able to finish his words, his brother had grabbed him by the upper arm, almost dragging him towards the edge of the godswood.

Now Jon saw, now he understood. A stranger walked past them, blind to their presence. He had pale, colorless eyes and a soft, puffy face. His smile was a cruel one. Jon could barely hear the man as he murmured to himself, “I got my bride back, I got my Reek back, I come for you now, bastard.”

The desperation, the reason for Robb’s pain lay on the hard ground at their feet. Sansa stared past them, unseeing, blood slowly soaking her grey lambswool dress. She had a purple bruise on her left cheek and an ugly gash on her right. Jon squatted down next to her, reaching out to stroke her auburn hair, it shone like bright copper in the sunlight. He had been right, even with her face marred, Sansa had grown into a beautiful woman.

“What happened to her, Robb?” Sansa had loved songs and stories as a child, had dreamed of a loving husband and children. She deserved a kinder fate than this butcher’s work.

His brother joined him in the dirt, sitting on the opposite side of their sister. Robb picked up one of her hands, holding it in both of his. “You told her what you told me. Don’t you remember how stubborn she used to be? Sansa decided to take back Winterfell and the north by herself and she failed.”

Jon had borne the death of their father, and then Bran and Rickon, and Robb. This was more than he could take, his family was being destroyed and Jon had done nothing but fail. “You said I could save her. Tell me how.”

Robb sighed before answering, the worry slowly leaving him. “We are wolves, Jon, a pack, you two need each other, never forget that. See, look over there.”

He nodded, an indication to Jon who looked in the direction of his brother’s gaze. Robb’s words took on a new meaning. “What are we doing?” Jon was taken aback, brothers and sisters did not touch each other like that, except maybe the Lannisters. They stood together under the Winterfell heart tree, embracing in the way that lovers do. Sansa wore a dress of blue velvet, she looked up at him, hands clasping his face. Jon held her close to him, one hand in her hair, the other at her waist. _Am I in love with my sister? Surely not._

“You’re asking her to marry you, Jon. I tell you true, the two of you are deeply in love.”

Jon felt shock, that could not be possible. “But, she’s my sister.”

Robb stared back at him. “No, she’s not, I already told you. She never was.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “You will understand soon but know this. I have loved you always as my brother and truest friend. Make her happy, save her as I could not.

I was raised to be the lord of Winterfell, to rule the north. I thought that I would marry and have children, an heir to carry the Stark line. You know my fate, I never saved Sansa and I never came home again. My fate need not be yours. It has been denied to me forever but you can have another chance. Save my sister, rule with her, do what I failed to do. Promise me, Jon.”

He did not know what to say, Robb, the trueborn son and heir, was asking him to usurp and take what was never meant to be his. “I promise, Robb, I promise.”

Just like that, all the tension and pain and misery Robb had been carrying with him was gone. He wore a smile again, the first one Jon had spied since they were reunited. “There is one more thing I wish to show you, I want to show you hope.”

This time, the first time, they walked together as companions, the way they had as children. Eventually, they arrived at the inner ward, where they once practiced at archery. There was a couple standing close together, the woman several moons gone with child. It was them, only ten years older. Age had somehow made Sansa into an even greater beauty. Jon watched as the older version of himself placed his hands on Sansa’s belly before leaning in to kiss her. Two young children, a boy who looked like Robb and a girl who looked like Arya, laughed together, each grasping a small bow. _A family, I have a family…._

“Robb.” Jon felt a wetness on his cheeks but there were no snow flakes falling from the sky.

“I know, Jon. It will be time for you to go soon. Remember, you have to save her. Don’t forget. Don’t forget me.” Robb reached out to embrace him one last time.

“Never.”

The warmth and the light were gone. He drifted, like a white feather in the winds of winter, drifted alone in the cold and the dark. Suddenly, Jon once again drew breath. The first contact of air in his lungs felt sharp and painful. He opened his eyes only to see his rooms at Castle Black. _Sansa, I need to find her._

***

Far to the north, beyond the wall, a three eyed boy lay in the darkness under the frozen earth. He watched the man he still called brother through the eyes of a raven as a girl in grey moved closer with every passing moment. Bran smiled.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa as the girl in grey has become one of my favorite pet theories.


	6. A Siren's Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Born with the blood curse of the Siren, Sansa is dangerously irresistible to men. Some want to possess her, some want to hurt her, most want to fuck her but there is one who wants to love her. How will she be kept safe from the desires of men?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - attempted rape featured.

Some girls fancy it to be a blessing, would even yearn for it themselves sometimes, but now Sansa Stark has had her sixteenth nameday, she knows it for what it is - _a curse_.

Even though it's well documented, many still do not believe in the existence of Sirens. The original, pureblood enchantresses reported to have stepped forwards from the salt and spray of the sea. They were beyond beautiful and maddeningly desirable to all men who looked upon them. The nature of that desire being decided by the nature of the man's heart - lust, love or violence, the Siren would bring out the dominant trait to a degree of insanity.

Over the years the blood of the Sirens have been diluted, a strong-blooded beauty being born every now and again who manages to bewitch and beguile the menfolk around her into a stupor.

It is said that many a mistress has a trace of Siren's blood in her veins to be able to inspire someone else's husband's infidelity - although Lady Catelyn fancies that it is a tall tale spun to assuage the man's guilt - Ned never tried for that excuse at least, when he brought home an infant Snow.

Catelyn herself has been accused of housing a streak of the temptress about her - with stories of a young, weak boy being driven mad enough to challenge her betrothed to an ill-fated spar for her heart. That was all a long time ago now and Sansa forgets his name or what became of him.

Yes, there had always been rumours of the Tully lineage carrying some Siren's blood with it. Sansa's father's house too, was not deaf to the whispers that a certain wolf girl - the one that sparked a war of Stags and Dragons - must have held a streak of the Siren along with the ice in her Stark veins.

So it should not have been a shock that a daughter of those two great houses would possess the cursed blood with such a strength that she worried her mother and father so.

Legends of the Sirens were told and retold - stories of girls who could inspire such passion and love that men would fall upon their own swords should their Siren bid them to. An unsuspecting Sansa too, had found the tales fascinating and romantic - that is, until the first incident.

It was the day directly after her nameday, Robb had promised all the younger Stark children a refreshing ride out to the river on the clear, warm day. Arya had already stuck her scruffy head into Sansa's chambers and threatened to tell Robb to leave without her if she didn't hurry and stop fussing with her hair. Sansa huffed at her sister and carried on perfecting her braids.

_Robb wouldn't go without me._

Sansa almost stomped her boot on the cobbles once she realised Arya had gotten her way, and had persuaded the others to go ahead and leave her behind.

 _Probably told some big fat lies about me not coming,_ she quietly steamed.

Sansa glanced around at the near enough empty courtyard, dusty and bathed in summertime warmth. She beamed as bright as the sun when she saw Jonquil, her grey mare, still tethered and already tacked up.

 _Perhaps I can catch up with them,_ Sansa thought as she leads her horse to the mounting block to get seated in the saddle.

"Let me help you my Lady"! Calls Jarvis, one of the oldest of Winterfell's stable hands as he jogs across the yard.

"Thank you Jarvis but there's no need, really" Sansa chimes, eager to get going and find her siblings.

"Well let me at least make sure her girth strap is-" Jarvis stills, his words dead on his tongue and he just gapes at her. He gapes and he gapes until Sansa starts to grow uncomfortable under his maddening stare.

"Jarvis?....are you quite alright"?

After a long moment of stillness, the only noise encroaching the courtyard being the slight creak of Sansa's saddle and the soft whicker and huff from Jonquil, Sansa starts entertaining the idea of searching out Maester Luwin for Jarvis when he lunges for her.

She shrieks and her horse skitters about as the man grabs her ankle and begins to push his hand up her skirts, his palm pawing at her calf, then her knee and thigh. His hands feel cold and clammy, angry and wanton.

"Come here pretty" he growls.

"Jarvis! What...what are you doing?! Get off me"!

"Get off tha' horse girl, come down here an' ride my cock instead pretty".

"Jarvis!!...Get off"!! Sansa yells and begins kicking wildly when the stable hand started yanking at her ankle and biting his fingers into the flesh of her thigh.

"You! Get your hands off of her"! Came a cry from the other side of the yard and suddenly Theon Greyjoy was sprinting towards them.

Jarvis seemed to pay him no mind however, and carried on pawing and clawing, tugging and grabbing. That is, until Theon broke his jaw with his fist and rendered him unconscious and unmoving on the dusty cobbles.

"Theon! Thank the Gods!.... what...what do you suppose came over him"?! Sansa asked whilst trying to calm her mare.

Theon was breathing hard through his nose from the short burst of violence and staring down at the puddle of a young man on the floor. He lifted his head to answer but no words came. Instead, Sansa saw him widen his eyes and sweep them up and down her figure before he too lunged for her in a flurry of hunger and greed.

"THEON"! Sansa shrieked as he managed to seize her small waist and yanked her from the saddle, near enough twisting her ankle in the process as it became entangled in the stirrup.

"THEON WHAT ARE YOU DOING"?! Sansa screamed as he hauled her small frame over his shoulder as if she were a rag doll, and strode into the nearest stable block with Sansa's perfected braid swaying towards the ground and her legs kicking about frantically.

"PUT. ME. DOWN"! Sansa demands as they enter the musty straw laden stables. Theon complies by throwing her to the ground, some sawdust and straw thankfully breaking her thud of a fall.

He stared at her wildly before wetting his lips, his hands fly to the lacings of his breeches, violently pulling and tugging at knots and cord.

"This might hurt my Lady, but just the first time" he babbles quickly, trying to free himself of his clothing.

"Theon no"! Sansa breathed, her eyes growing wide with realisation

"It's for the best Sansa, your father might consent to a hasty match should you be soiled".

"Theon! This isn't funny! Stop! STOP"!

"We'll marry and be the next Lord and Lady of the Iron Islands. You'll be mine. I'll have you...and...and you'll give me many sons. We can start now".

Theon's words are a flurry along with his hands - hands that had just then managed to complete their task at freeing his hardened manhood. It looked red and angry and altogether quite frightening to Sansa who had never seen a man bare before. Sansa felt fear clawing at her insides like a fever, her limbs started trembling and she could swear that her throat started to close up.

"Please Theon" she whimpered, begging him to cease his madness.

"Come here, wife" he growled, his face decorated with a grin as he began to stalk towards Sansa whilst she scrambled backwards desperately.

"Please, no"!

There was a sudden dark blur that sped towards and tackled Greyjoy to the ground.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing to Sansa"?! The dark blur shouted as it rained fists down upon the Ironborn heir.

"She's mine bastard"! Theon growled after spitting out blood and a couple of teeth.

"She fucking well isn't"!

The scuffle lasted only a few seconds longer, Jon having dealt Theon with a powerful blow that seemed to have rendered him immobile for now. Sweaty, panting and bloody, Jon tried to regain himself as he still sat atop the now motionless battered young man.

"Sansa, are you-" he finally started saying, not looking at her, instead opting to try to catch his breath. His voice died however, as soon as he turned to see her. Jon's eyes widened, he got up slowly and began numbly allowing himself to be drawn forward.

_Oh Jon, not you too!?_

"Jon"? Sansa croaked out from a voice about to crack into a sob as she pulled her knees up to her chest defensively.

Jon shook his head as if shaking himself awake from a dream. "Sansa"? He blinked rapidly at her and cleared his throat. "I...I...are you hurt"? He asked, only breaking his stare briefly to glance back at the unmoving Greyjoy.

"I want to go back to my room" Sansa whispered almost to herself with a sniffle.

Jon walked with her through the halls, making their way to her chamber. They did not speak, Sansa's hasty clip of boots on stone were words enough. Jon could not seem to help but throw glances her way every few steps beside her, his blood-caked hand every now and again reaching to sooth the small of her back, only to flex and retreat back to his side.

*********  
Sansa kept to her chambers after the incident that day, and it seemed as though that's where she stayed for a few moons after.

"It's for your own safety" her Mother had said after listening to Sansa moan and gripe whilst brushing out her copper locks so that they shone like spun silk.

"Is this it then?.... I'm to stay tucked away in rooms out of harms way for the rest of my life"?! Sansa snarled as she began pulling out the loose strands of hair caught up in her soft boar bristle brush.

"Sansa" Lady Catelyn warned. Sansa rolled her eyes in return. Her Mother huffed in annoyance before carrying on "you know we can't risk anything happening Sansa....Besides, your Father is looking into this rumour about blood magic or some-such, but until we can find out if it's true - that we can break the Siren blood curse, you'll have to stay put I'm afraid.....I...I just couldn't bare it if something happened...if...if HE hadn't have stopped Theon, then...."

"Jon....his name is Jon, it's not a sin to use his name Mother" Sansa put the brush down and crossed her arms over her chest, raising her eyes to look defiantly at her Mother's reflection in the mirror. Lady Catelyn's lips pressed together into a hard line.

Ever since the incident, Sansa had quarrelled with Lady Catelyn more and more frequently. She was so terribly tired of being cooped up and hidden away, under a protective lock and key - it made her eager to snap and rile what with all her pent up energy and thoughts.

Sansa also softened somewhat towards her bastard half brother, her saviour from that awful day. He would often look up to her window while down in the yard, seeing her wistfully watching the goings on below like a fair maiden trapped in a tower. Jon would give her a small wave and sheepish smile.

Sansa was never one for risking the hem of her skirts in the dust and muck of the courtyard but how she wished she could do so now.

Ever since a raven came declaring a visit from the royal family, Winterfell was in the midst of a hum of energy and preparation, not many people found enough time or inclination to pay the trapped fair maiden a visit. Some days she felt maddened by isolation, as though the only human interaction she experienced was one of Jon Snow's bashful smiles.

She had been confined for almost a moon the first time Jon felt compelled to stand vigil outside of her door.

"Who's there" Sansa called tentatively through the thick wood when she had heard someone approach and stop outside her chambers.

"It's me, Jon" came the soft sounding reply.

"Wh-....what are you doing"?  
  
"I....I noticed Theon looking up at your window...wasn't sure if he planned on paying you a visit". Sansa heard him shuffle his feet.

She paused before responding quietly "the door is locked" she said, memories of that awful day flooding back to her.

"Aye...but I wouldn't put it past him to try shouldering it open to get to you".

Sansa didn't respond. She watched Jon's shadow move from the small gap below the door, the sconces in the hallway making it dance and flicker. She heard the scrape of his body as he sank down against the door to what Sansa assumed was a seated position.

"Do you want to come in"? She asked. Jon's shuffling stilled, there was a few beats of thick silence.

"I'd better not Sansa" he replied hoarsely.

"You're my brother" Sansa furrowed her brow. Her Siren's blood never affected her close kin, Father was still able to visit her to bid her goodnight and Robb still thought her nothing but an annoying prissy little sister.

".....only half of me is...." Jon answered in a strained voice. Sansa stared at his shadow, letting his words sink in. She sighed and sank to the floor to mirror his position on the other side of the door.

"You would think being desirable would be a good thing....I hate this...I hate the Siren's blood" Sansa almost sobbed.

There was a pause, as there often is with Jon, always careful about his words and actions. "I'm sorry" was all he managed. He sounded like he meant it though.

Sansa noticed out of the corner of her eye the very tips of three of Jon's fingers appear from under the door, she placed hers over his. The small amount of contact felt comforting and like something she had been lacking for days.

Jon kept coming back to stand outside her door from time to time, after a while he stopped naming who ever it was he'd caught staring up at her window. Sansa didn't ask - she got to talk to someone who wasn't Mother or a maid and that was enough. Arya, Bran and Rickon were busy with their lessons during the day, and Father had taken to including Robb with any of his activities that might aid his Lordly education. So Sansa was grateful for Jon's visits behind the door, whatever pretence he used to make them.

"I'm going to the Wall" he blurted in the middle of a conversation one day.

"The Wall?....you're going to join the Watch"?

"Aye...aye, I mean to take the black". Jon's fingertips moved to lightly stroke against Sansa's under the door.

"Oh"

"What the fuck are you doing here"?! Sansa heard him yell abruptly.

"I beg your pardon"?! She retorted, taking her fingers away from his before they disappeared and sounds of Jon hastily rising to his feet came through the door.

"No...sorry..." Jon said apologetically, "Greyjoy's here" he growled, Sansa could practically feel him bristle through the wood.

"I came to apologise to Sansa" she heard in Theon's voice, the memory of it saying other, more unsavoury things caused her to scramble to her feet and back away from the door.

"I'll pass it on.....LEAVE" Jon hissed.

"What's the harm in talking to her through the door Snow"?

Jon was silent but Sansa could imagine the warning glare he would be throwing at Theon with all his might. She could see the shadow of his feet still stood squarely at her door - Sansa wasn't sure she had ever thought of a shadow as determined, unmoving and resolute before, but Jon's was.

"Fine"! Theon snapped "just...just tell her that I'm sorry about what happened...that I know about her blood curse but I can't stop thinking about her...that I still want her" Theon's words fell out in a rush and stumble.

"I will not"

"She would be mine by now if you hadn't have interfered Snow"! The Ironborn snapped back "I'd have her, she'd be mine...and wouldn't that just drive your bastard heart crazy"?

 _You're the one that sounds crazy_ , Sansa thought as she listened to their conversation.

"Well you don't have her and she will never be yours Greyjoy...she is Sansa Stark, Daughter of the Lord Warden, Blood of Winterfell and Princess of the North - she is not something for you or anyone to possess"!

"We'll see about that" Theon grunted.

"No...we won't"

"Why are you here anyway?! Trying to break the door down to have a go on her yourself Snow"?

"Im her brother, and I'm protecting her from the likes of you".

"Aye, you're her brother, and a bastard one at that! There's no way you haven't thought about that sweet wet little cunt on the other side of that door whilst fisting your lonely cock at night".

"Leave now Greyjoy, before I break that nose for you again". Sansa could practically hear Jon's teeth grinding together.

There was a pause in the conversation and Sansa wondered if Theon had already retreated when he finally left his parting words.

"Be a good bastard and give the 'Princess of the North' my love" he spat at Jon.

Once Sansa was sure Theon was gone she tentatively approached the door again.

"There's no such thing as the 'Princess of the North' you know" she calls softly.

She hears Jon chuckle. "Aye...There is, just no one else knows about it is all".

  
***********

It was only perhaps seven or eight days after Theon had been sent away to lodge with the Bolton's at The Dreadfort that Uncle Benjen arrived from Castle Black to escort Jon back to the Wall. Sansa didn't get to see her Uncle, no-one quite sure how close a kin one needed to be to be immune to the Siren's blood.

"You go in the morning then"? Sansa asked, already knowing the answer. She dragged her forefinger over the knuckle and then up to the fingernail of Jon's ring finger as it peeped under the door.

"Aye...At first light" he responded softly. Sansa heard a quiet thud against the door, she imagined his head leant back against it.

"Who will guard my door now my noble Knight will be gone"? Sansa teased. She heard Jon snort in response.

"I am no Knight Sansa.....and...and I am not noble" Jon said quietly.

"Nonsense! Of course you are noble Jon! Your 'Princess of the North' won't hear anything to the contrary"! Sansa argued with a proud smile on her face, not that Jon could see it.

He did not respond but pulled his fingers out from under hers.

"I will miss our talks" Sansa commented as if it would bring his touch back. 'I will miss you' is what she wanted to say, she's not quite sure why those words won't dislodge themselves from her throat.

************

Sansa's Mother seemed a lot brighter once Jon had left Winterfell for good.

_He's gone to never come back and here I am trapped forever as if I were a stone within these very walls._

For all that Lady Catelyn rejoiced in the absence of Ned Stark's bastard, Sansa grew bitter - bitter at her long formed notion that her Mother had a hand in Jon Snow's leaving and bitter at her own situation of captivity. She snapped and snarled at almost all of her infrequent guests until they became increasingly more infrequent.

Sansa felt like yanking all her pretty copper locks out from their roots, for who would visit to admire her anyway? She was growing mad from hours upon hours of embroidery - all her clothes were covered in intricate thread and beading and hardly a soul would see it. Books soon lost their appeal too, Sansa quickly grew jealous of the romance and adventure depicted within the pages. She often wondered what adventures Jon might be having.

"I think it best that we might move you my dear" her mother commented with downcast eyes as she was braiding Sansa's hair in her own chambers one morning.

"Move me"? Sansa blinked at herself in the mirror.

"Yes, your Father is worried about the number of men that will lodge at Winterfell when the King and his retinue arrives in a few days time".

"But no one will see me....I only frequent three rooms within the castle now....who will bloody see me"?! She snapped nearly breaking the comb she was fiddling with in her hands.

"Sansa"! Her mother scolded, then sighed. She was getting more and more used to her daughter's unladylike outbursts. She couldn't exactly blame her. Her perfect little lady had become something of a kin to a caged bird it seems.

"You could do with a change of scenery".

"So I can sit scowling at four different walls"? Sansa snorted. Lady Catelyn rolled her eyes.

"Actually, your Father was thinking you might stay with Berta, Old Nan's sister". Sansa furrowed her brow and carried on twiddling with the comb in her hands. "She lives quite alone and far from the nearest village or road.....the cottage, it's isolated...Berta hasn't seen a soul for over a year Old Nan says".

Sansa stares at the brushes, combs, pots and bottles on her Mother's dressing table without saying a word.

"She lives in the only cottage for miles and miles around, on one of the moors of The Gift....you could at least enjoy some fresh air there without fearing coming face to face with any man" Lady Catelyn said, patting Sansa's shoulder.

_Outside? I could go outside?_

Sansa gave her Mother's reflection a small smile whilst she allowed a spark of excitement ignite deep within her belly.

***********

Berta' stone cottage was indeed quite isolated, the grasses and heathers of the moorlands surrounding it being the lonely building's only friends. The landscape was open and seemed endless until the horizon in all directions save for the odd small copse of trees. Certainly, if anyone were to approach the cottage, Sansa would have enough time to hide herself away as Berta instructed in her cellar.

The cottage itself was small and cozy, a single story stone building accompanied by two outhouses, a well and a small yard for chickens and goats.

Berta herself shared many a trait with her sister Nan, except that of warm hospitality. Sansa supposed it was the many years of isolation that had weathered her to become so. She was barren, her husband had passed from a fever some ten years ago and Old Berta felt no need to secure herself a new one.

Although Berta was a little frosty towards Sansa and made it quite clear she was in no dire need of company, Sansa supposed that the old lady was glad of the help about the small house. Besides, Sansa preferred the open air these days, so found herself spending more and more time walking and riding about the moorside. Some of her favoured activities became taking parchment and charcoal out and trying her hand at sketching the flora to then return to the cottage and look up what she had found in her botanical book. The most beautiful flowers that grew there were the wild violets that were rare, but she sometimes happened upon in the copses. She had even pressed a few in her book.

It was lonely but it was a freeing kind of lonely, not like the girl locked away in her rooms feeling like her only friend was the boy on the other side of the door. _I'm closer to The Wall now, closer to Jon... not that I'll ever get to see him._

The cottage only received one infrequent visitor - Martha, the wife of the Innkeeper at the nearest village. Every so often Martha would make the day long trek from the village to deliver some supplies and bring any news from Winterfell. She was a large, friendly woman who looked somewhat precarious perched atop her mule laden down with sacks of grain and other preserves for Berta and Sansa. Sansa pitied the poor beast.

It had been almost two moons turn since Martha's previous visit when Sansa spotted the woman approaching on her wobbly steed through the long grasses.

Perhaps she has news from Winterfell about my returning, Sansa wondered as she watched the figure slowly making its way towards the lonely cottage.

How wrong Sansa was.

The large woman stumbled off of her tired looking animal. Her cheeks were red from windburn and her long thin mousy brown hair was a mess from being whipped about in the breeze.

"Martha"! Sansa greeted her warmly, glad to at last have conversation with someone who has friendly eyes and a kind smile - for that night at least.

But that kind smile never materialised and instead of the feeling of friendliness in her gaze, there was pity there instead.

"It's your brother my Lady....there's been an accident at Winterfell".

Martha retold the information she had been given about Sansa's father being made Hand of the King, leaving Winterfell in Robb's hands as well as her brother Bran's fall from the Broken Tower.

Sansa had so many questions for the poor woman, but Martha was only in possession of the facts she had been given. She was overly apologetic and didn't even flinch when Sansa took out her frustrations on the poor woman by near enough grabbing her by her cloak and shaking her - as if more information would fall out of her by doing so. Berta tutted from her seat in the corner.

Sansa waited and waited for word that she could return home. During that time they only encountered one lone wandering man whom Sansa hid from and Berta begrudgingly fed a bowl of broth and a crust of bread before insisting he be on his way. Sansa wonders what Berta could really do should the next wanderer have a mind to turn violent and take Berta's cottage from her, or her life.

Martha's visits turned from being something Sansa looked forward to, to events that she dreaded after news of her Father's execution in King's Landing and Robb taking up arms against the crown.

She had wept and wept at the information Martha kept bringing, so much so that even Berta softened and often took her in for long embraces for comfort. Although the old woman meant well, Sansa longed to be embraced by her Mother, knowing that being held by the woman who gave her life would bring her more comfort than anything else in the world.

But her Mother never came, never visited. Sansa supposed she must be getting word of her own wellbeing through Martha and prioritising Robb's war over her own need to be held and cooed over and sang to, of course.

More news eventually came of yet more death and betrayal against House Stark. Robb and Mother murdered and her younger brothers lost to the kraken, still no word of Arya. Sansa didn't eat or rise from her small bed for days on end. Berta forced small sips of soup passed her lips more times than Sansa could actually remember.

Sansa slipped into those bouts of numbness and despair from time to time over the following year. The clawing feeling of darkness overtaking her natural instincts to survive, to keep on going. She lost track of time, not knowing if it had been a few days past, a week or a moon between Sansa crawling into bed and then crawling back out again. It was any wonder that Berta didn't just leave her there to rot and be rid of her once and for all, returning to that solitude she liked so very much. But no, Berta wouldn't do that, she was loyal to House Stark - even if there are now Bolton's at Winterfell - and she will care for the Stark she has under her roof.

Sansa rose early one morning after a melancholy day or two abed to find Berta slumped in her armchair, deep in slumber.

After grabbing a chunk of cured ham and a couple of dried spiced apple slices, Sansa decided to load her satchel with her parchment and charcoal and head out to do some walking and drawing. Perhaps she'll see some of the morning larks or find some more wild violets.

The chilly morning air was crisp and refreshing, the sky had a tinge of lilac and pink. Sansa drew for a little over an hour, finding a couple of beetles she'd drawn a few times before but studied them anyway. After that, she made her way to one of the nearest copses to see if there were any young trees amongst the thicket that Sansa could manage to chop herself for their dwindling supply of firewood. She spotted a few and made her way back to the cottage to get her small axe and Griffin, her pony.

Sansa poked her head into the cottage to let Berta know what she would be doing. The old woman was still slumped in the exact same position that Sansa had left her in a few hours ago.

 _That's strange_ , Sansa thought before approaching Berta and calling her name, shaking her a little by the shoulders.

Berta was buried in an unmarked grave that Sansa blessed with a splash of the old woman's favoured wine and a small posy of violets. It had taken Sansa the whole afternoon to dig the grave, the ground being tough and riddled with roots.

She drew herself a bath by the fire that night and allowed some tears to come forth and fall to the water for her only companion now lost to The Stranger. The wind howled like a wolf against the small stone building as if paying its respects to the elderly woman in the dirt and offering its condolences to the young woman left behind.

Four days later Sansa ventured back out to the copse to chop the young ash trees she had found the day she dragged Berta's body out of the cottage.

She hadn't meant for it to happen - the crying. She thought that the task at hand would take her mind off of her situation for a time, whisk her away back to Winterfell, before she had the cursed blood, before everyone left or died. But what did she know? Nothing. She knew nothing whilst she brought down her axe on the small trunk, chipping away at it, not as proficiently as she would like. Each blow marked a sadness she had endured, _chop...chop...chop_... Jon leaving, Father's execution, Mother, Robb, Bran and Rickon's murders, _chop...chop...chop_....the desecration of her home, her missing sister and the reality of her own life - destined to be alone, to never be loved - truly loved that is no trick from a blood curse... _.chop...chop....chop._

Sansa thought that the tears would never dry, but they did. The feeling of hopelessness remained like a millstone crushing her chest though, and she wasn't entirely sure when she had stopped chopping and had sunk to her knees in the dirt.

She stared into oblivion, not thinking of anything in particular, just flashes of memories, not fully formed thoughts. Mother brushing out her hair, Bran climbing to the highest branches of the weirwood tree, Robb running around with Rickon on his shoulders, Arya teasing her, Father putting a whetstone to his blade, Jon's shy smiles and pushing his fingers under her chamber door.

The sky began to bleed into darkness as Sansa found herself laying on the ground, pushing one hand into the dirt and debris of the moorland floor. She surrendered herself there on the frosty ground - if the cold of the night decided to hand her over to death, then so be it. Sansa would not fight its claim on her, what did she really have that was worth fighting for anyway?

An icy numbness lulled her to sleep only for a calming warmth to wake her. Sansa had not really thought about what dying might have felt like but she supposed that The Stranger would be kind to her since she'd willingly given herself up. Death seemed to smell like sweat and dirt and home and was murmuring her name in her ear as it held a strong arm about her waist. She didn't know when the flames had started but they danced hypnotically in front of her.

_Sansa.....Sansa...please wake up....my Sansa...my Sweet Girl...wake up my love...please...._

The Stranger’s voice was familiar and she tried and failed to place it before the blackness of sleep took her again.

The next time she awoke the sky was painted in its colours of dawn, streaks of lavender and orange. There was a fire that had dwindled to a smoking smoulder in front of her and she was covered in someone else's cloak. She felt the warmth of someone unknown behind her, holding her about the waist, stroking her stomach and kissing the back of her neck.

_It wasn't The Stranger after all._

Sansa blinked, trying to clear her mind. Someone was with her, holding her. She sensed it was a man - she'd not seen a man for nigh on three years, and even then he had been a speck on the horizon.

She wasn't sure how she felt about it all, She should be scared, her Siren's blood surely meant she would be raped if he hadn't done so already whilst she had been unconscious. Sansa found that she wasn't scared though, she had been prepared to perish only a few hours ago after all. Perhaps this man was one of the very few whose heart spoke of love before lust? Of care before gratification? She certainly didn't feel like she had been violated. Sansa stayed absolutely still, not quite sure what she should do next.

"Please wake up my love" the unknown man murmured his hot breath into the skin at the nape of her neck as he nuzzled into her hairline. Sansa could feel the soft downy hairs there stand on end and goosebumps begin to trickle down her spine.

"Sansa....my Sansa..." he said next. Sansa knit her brows together in confusion. This man knew her name and his own voice was achingly familiar and yet new, deeper and more rugged. There was a scratch of beard each time he pressed his lips to her skin and his hand splayed possessively about her waist. That same hand seemed to be inching its way higher up her bodice until it cupped her breast and squeezed. He let out a growl behind her ear that made Sansa shiver and his hips started pressing and grinding into her rear whilst he carried on kneading at her chest.

The man's breathing soon became heavy in her ear and Sansa wondered if this was when he was to push her onto her back, lift her skirts and take her virtue. Her pulse raced at the thought - from fear and a fraction of excitement, not that she would admit to that.

But the man didn't lift her skirts and claim her maidenhead, instead he cursed, relinquished her breast and rolled away from her. Sansa listened intently to the goings on behind her, his breathing was still uneven and there was a lot of shuffling and rustling. It wasn't until he began to grunt and groan, only to finish by calling out her name in a strangled cry and another curse, that Sansa realised what he had been doing to himself next to her.

He continued to pant as his body came back to hers, his mouth and nose against her shoulder and his arm reached around her middle once more. Sansa fancied that she could feel the rapid patter of his heart in his chest as it pressed tightly to her back but surely the layers of wool and leather prevented such a thing.

"Sansa....please wake up sweetling" he began pressing more tender kisses to where her neck meets her shoulder and Sansa felt that now was as good a time as any to turn and face the unknown man.

As she turned in his arms, she was rewarded with his sharp intake of breath. His face was close, so close to hers. Familiar grey eyes met her blue ones and she knew instantly who he was.

His curls were now long enough that he wore them tied back, his face framed with a manly beard, his skin was more weathered than when she had seen it last, he had crows-feet at the sides of his eyes as well as a few distracting scars. She ran the pad of her delicate forefinger down the large scar that ran through his brow and continued down his cheek.

"Jon"?

He answered her by quickly ducking down and passionately kissing the lips his name had fallen from, his tongue hungrily licking into her, swallowing her surprise. She was frozen in shock at first but his wonderful attentions soon thawed her as he shifted his body to be on top of her. Sansa's arms felt foreign as they lifted up to link behind Jon's neck. He answered her with a deep satisfied throaty hum before pulling away with a gasp and staring into her soul as he caught his breath.

"I thought you were dead when I happened upon you....what were you doing out here"? Jon asked huskily as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Trying to die".

*********

"About what I did.....Sansa, I'm sorry" Jon murmured behind her as they shared his horse, making their way back to the lonely cottage, Griffin in tow behind them.

"It was the Siren's blood" Sansa answered matter-of-factly, not knowing if he had meant kissing her or pawing at her till he fisted his cock.

Jon sighed and lightly nosed at her hair.

"I never thought I'd see you again....I didn't know what had become of you....I almost swallowed my own tongue when I found you and realised who you were". Jon's grip on Sansa tightened and he began placing soft kisses behind her ear.

Sansa stared ahead at the slowly approaching cottage. These weren't the actions of a brother - although it has been years since she's been in the presence of one, she half doubts that she remembers what it was like - no, Jon wasn't acting like a brother, he was acting like a lover. Her Siren's blood was working it's dark magic on him. She should try to stop him she thinks, but it feels too good to be touched and held and kissed.

Once inside, Jon set to work on the fire at the small hearth to warm them. They sat, with ale and food as each took it in turns to tell tales of their time apart. Sansa's heart was heavy at the realisation that Jon had so, so many more tales to tell than she - the cursed isolated girl.

Jon told her of the Wall, his friends who helped guard it and the expansive and dangerous land beyond it. He told her of ranging and wildlings, becoming Lord Commander and of the very real threat of the dead. Jon couldn't seem to stop absentmindedly touching Sansa as he spoke - shakily tucking a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear, brushing her arm with his knuckles or nervously tracing the fading pattern on her skirts with his fingers.

As if all of what he was saying wasn't hard enough to believe - and if it had been anyone else but Jon telling the tales, she wouldn't have believed a word - Jon then went on to recount his betrayal, death and resurrection.

"She told me things, The Red Woman, the one who brought me back" Jon said solemnly, staring into his pewter tankard, his hands shaking and fidgety.

"What things"?

"She said that I needed to join with the Dragon Queen to fight during the Long Night....said it was the only way we could win".

"Is that where you're going"? To find the Dragon Queen"?

"....Yes and No.." Jon smiles down at the floor. "I stole away from Castle Black in the night....didn't want anyone coming with me...too many different voices telling me what I should and shouldn't do....Before I knew it, I just began to wander....figured I'd probably end up at Dragonstone eventually but for a while I was just happy to drift by myself, with my own thoughts...and then I stumbled across your body on the moorland...Sansa, you were so cold...I feared I was too late". Jon's voice sounded desperate and fearful.

"But you weren't" Sansa said quickly, grabbing his shaking hand with both of hers. Jon stared down at their conjoined fingers with a small smile on his face. He looked as though he wanted to press her for answers as to why he'd found her out in the cold. Instead he took a shuddering inhale and placed his tankard down on the small table so he could commit his other hand to their jumble of digits.

"Sansa...The Red Woman....she told me something else...about my Mother...and my Father" Jon gulped as he studied Sansa.

The pain at what Jon told her next was evident on his face. His features pinched with an ache that Sansa couldn't begin to understand.

"You're a Prince then" Sansa said with a small, kind smile, breaking the silence that had settled on them after his revelation.

"Aye...but still a bastard...not like the Princess of the North" Jon responded, returning her grin. Sansa rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the small smile from her face.

"And we're cousins now".

"Aye".

Sansa sat and stared at the fire, letting all this new information sink in, she felt Jon's eyes on her.

"You're still close enough kin for my blood curse not to affect you" she said, still staring into the flames.

"I wouldn't say that" Jon mumbles nervously and looks away only to slowly bring his eyes back to Sansa, as if she were a magnet.

"But..." Sansa starts, noticing that Jon's hands are still shaking, his knee keeps bouncing as if he's agitated and he seems to wet his lips a lot. "..but....you haven't done anything about it...not really...you're able to ignore it" she thinks back to the way Jarvis and Theon had lunged for her, wanted to claim her right there and then, to have her, to fuck her. They had scared Sansa so much that day. Jon didn't scare her, not in the slightest.

"Sansa..." Jon said in a strained voice "it's taking all my strength not to...." he trails off, dragging a hand down his face and looking away only to again be drawn back to her. Jon seems to be trying to say a thousand words with one heated look.

"Not to _what_ , Jon"? Sansa swallows. The weight of Jon's stare and the way his eyes seem to leave her skin scorched tells her everything she needs to know.

"I think you know Sansa" Jon says low and huskily. He sounds dangerous and hungry and his voice sparks something low in Sansa's belly. She decides that she wants him to say it, the thought of hearing those words from his lips making her squirm pleasantly in her seat.

"Tell me".

Jon sighs. "It's taking all of my strength not to... kiss you, touch you...." he swallows and licks his lips again "...to make love to you".

Sansa knows he's watching her for a reaction and she can't help but give him one. She feels her cheeks begin to heat and colour, she knows her breathing is picking up its pace, her chest rising and falling under Jon's gaze. What he can't see is that her sudden imaginings of Jon throwing her down on her small bed, licking at her throat and spreading her legs is having an effect on her intimate areas. Sansa squeezes her thighs together, feeling herself growing slick between her legs. She bites down hard on her lower lip.

"You could....if you wanted to" Sansa said quietly. Jon closed his eyes and took a long inhale and exhale through his nose.

"You wouldn't want that" He croaks almost to himself like a prayer, his eyes still closed, brows creased in concentration and restraint.

"Don't presume to tell me what I do and do not want Jon Snow" Sansa says in a shadow of the haughty voice she used to use as a child. Jon opens his eyes to her teasing grin "even if you are a Prince".

Jon briefly returns a watery version of her smile before casting his eyes downwards towards the floor, although not fixing them on anything in particular as he speaks. "Sansa, I...I love you...not how someone who was raised as your brother ought to love you...but how a man loves his woman...how a man should love his wife".

After Jon's confession had escaped and settled in the air between them like a heavy cloud, he tentatively raised his gaze to look into her eyes, trying to gauge what she felt.

Sansa would be lying if she were to deny that the patter of her heart was now dancing to a frantic rhythm, trying desperately to escape the confines of her chest and make its way to Jon. But deep down she knew it wasn't true, she couldn't trust these sweet words and it pained her to point out the obvious. "It's the Siren's blood making you think that Jon" Sansa stated quietly, staring down at her own hands, now in her lap.

Before she knew it, Jon was on his knees before her, cupping her hands and ducking his head to catch her eyes with his. "It's not Sansa...what I feel..." he pressed one of his palms to his chest "...it's real...I know it is".

Sansa shook her head. It would be all too easy and yet dangerous to believe him. Jon noticed her gesture and sighed.

"I can't deny that perhaps your blood curse puts a maddening edge to what I feel, making me desperately want to....to do things to you, with you" Jon blushes and stutters "...and maybe it was the trigger to it all, but it's genuine...it's you...it's not some magic or blood curse or trick...it's you sweet girl...it's always been you".

Jon's words are pretty and sweet, like a sticky honey luring a bee only for it to get stuck and engulfed in its sweetness. They sound like they resemble some form of truth, but Sansa could not just let go of her long held belief that no one could truly love her. Love her for herself - purely and simply Sansa. She tries not to let that show though.

"Kiss me...like you did out on the moorside Jon" she says, raising her head and giving him a coy smile.

Jon makes a strained throaty noise and stares at Sansa's lips before he leans in deliberately slowly "it's real Sansa, what I feel for you is real" he says to her mouth. The hunger in his eyes whispers to Sansa, telling her not to believe him but urging her to give into him all the same.

_The curse, it's just the Siren's curse Jon._

"Do them...do the things you want to do to me Jon...I want you to" Sansa whimpers when his mouth is but an inch away from hers, his hot breaths brushing across her own lips.

Jon groans loudly and drops his forehead to weigh heavily on her shoulder. "You wouldn't do...if you knew the vulgar things my mind conjures up" Jon says to her collarbone.

"Tell me".

He huffs and Sansa can feel it travel down her cleavage.

"Tell me Jon".

There's a silence between them before Jon begins to confess, not lifting his head from where it nestled in the crook of her neck. "I want to bury my face between your legs and lap at your sweet cunny, until it's only you I can taste for days after....I want to stroke and squeeze, lick and suckle at your perfect teats....Gods! I want to fuck you so much" Jon's hands find their way to Sansa's outer thighs and gives them a squeeze on his last confession only to then let her go and ball some of her skirt fabric up in his fists instead. Sansa whines at the back of her throat, a needy, wanton sound. Jon couldn't possibly miss the way her breath hitched at his words or how her hips swivelled in her seat like she was chasing some friction.

He looks up at her, a little dumbfounded "you....like me talking like that"?

Sansa can't seem to find her voice so she nods.

Jon's breath becomes laboured like the answer to his next question would decide whether he lived or died. "And you want me to do those things"? His voice is low and his eyes are alight.

"Please" Sansa whimpers.

*********

Moments later, the door to Sansa's small room slams open against the wall as she leads Jon, walking backwards and clawing at his clothes as she goes, not letting one second pass where her mouth is not on him. Jon had already surrendered his leather jerkin to her eager hands whilst he had been busy hungrily tasting the hollow of her throat, back when they were by the hearth. Sansa is down to her undershift and stockings as she reaches down Jon's stomach to untuck his shirt from his breeches. Jon's muscles twitched at her touch, Sansa giggles and Jon growls a feral sound in return, nipping at her neck.

Jon seems oblivious to the small single cot in the room as he instead turns them to push Sansa up against the wall, bunching her shift up and grabbing her thigh urging her leg to hitch over his hip.

"Seven Hells Sansa....is this real?....I've wanted you for so, so long" Jon mumbled between kissing and lapping at her skin. "I love you...oh Gods! I love you so much".

_No you don't sweet man. It's the Siren's blood._

Sansa hums throatily in response with her eyes closed, thoroughly enjoying the feel of Jon's solid body pushed up against her, trying to chase away unbidden excuses for his actions by counting the ways Jon was making her feel good.

She liked his broad shoulders and the way she could feel his muscles coil and shift under her hands. She liked the firmness of his chest and the warmth that radiated from him when he pressed into her. She loved whatever he was doing with his mouth, whether it was leaving a trail of kisses and licks across her skin or murmuring low, filthy and sweet endearments in between nips and scrapes of teeth.

His hands were another thing altogether, they were strong and calloused but they could do wonderful things, like caress and stroke as well as squeeze and knead. His well-muscled arms were loaded with energy as if they could hold up anything at all with little strain.

After going for so, so long without another person's touch, Jon being everywhere on her, all at once, was a beautiful heady sensation to Sansa. Her head began to spin like that time she'd snuck too much wine away from Berta's own stash. Her skin tingled warmly wherever he touched and yet she felt the prickle of goose flesh start to rise too.

She's reminded of those times where she touches herself at night when Jon starts rubbing his clothed swollen cock against her silk-clad cunny. It feels the same but different. She likes it and begins to move her own hips in turn. Both of them moan in unison.

Sansa remembers when Theon bared himself to her on that terrible day when she was scared and confused. Would Jon's cock scare her too? She suddenly felt naive and unpracticed - she didn't know what Jon wanted, what she was supposed to do. She only knew that so far, Jon could do no wrong and everything felt wonderful.

"Jon" Sansa tries weakly, eyes still closed, enjoying the sensations Jon is giving her. He's currently latched onto one of her teats, suckling her into a stiff peak through her shift.

"Hmmm"? He mumbled into the wet cotton, not leaving her breast.

Sansa swallows and tries again. "Jon...oh!.." he starts gently using his teeth on the soaked cloth around her nipple. "Jon....Jon I'm still a maid" she confesses. He growls around her teat before suddenly stilling and pulling away, dropping her leg in the process. "What is it"? Sansa asks confused and worried.

"I'm sorry Sansa, please forgive me" Jon backs away and ducks his head whilst cursing under his breath. He looks back at Sansa and sees the confusion on her face as well as her kiss-swollen lips, disheveled hair and wet patches on her teats from his own mouth.

"It shouldn't be me taking your maidenhead" Jon says lowering his gaze to the floor, balling his fists at his sides and clenching his jaw.

"Then who, Jon"? Sansa starts to feel something rile within her. "Who should I give it to? A wanderer who happens upon this cottage to rape me"?!

"No"!

"Or perhaps I should seek out a Lord to keep me under lock and key as his"?

"No Sansa! You are m-" Jon sucks in a shuddering gasp to mask his last word.

"I am _what_ Jon"?!

He makes a resigning huff before boring his eyes into hers as he speaks, "you're mine Sansa...you're mine now".

"Then make me yours Jon...please" she almost whines. Jon groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

"I'll hurt you...I'm....I'm not strong enough Sansa.....I'm not sure that I could hold back".

"Then don't"

"I don't want to hurt you"

Sansa took the two steps forward to close the distance that Jon had put between them and began tugging at the lacings of his breeches. "If you truly love me as you say you do, then you never will...you'll never hurt me Jon".

It was only a few moments later that they were both situated at Sansa's little bed - Sansa laid back with her legs spread wide while Jon made good on one of those things he wanted to do so much.

And Gods! Did it feel good! Obscenely good! Sansa felt like the whole of her skin was alight and burning from a body-wide blush as she looked down between her spread legs to see Jon's face - his mouth devouring her cunt like a starved man, his nose pressed into her copper-blonde maidenhair and his gorgeous grey eyes intent on hers.

She wondered why this was one of the things he wanted to do to her. As far as she could tell, Jon wasn't getting any gratification out of the act, although the hungry noises he was making brought that into question. When he muffled a few moans into her cunny Sansa wondered if he was pleasuring himself as he knelt at the foot of her bed, licking at her most intimate areas.

The Sansa of old may have thought that what he was doing was perverse. The present day Sansa knew it for what it was - an act that brought her the most intense feeling of pleasure she had ever experienced. Jon's hot breath coasting over her made her whimper, his warm tongue made her want to weep and when his fingers tentatively started pushing in and pulling out she couldn't hold back the loud groan or full body shudder that took over as an intense pleasurable tingle exhausted her entirely.

"Can I see you"? Sansa panted as Jon rose to his feet, licking his lips clean of the remnants of her.

His already loosened breeches were rid of quickly and Sansa gaped at his tented smallclothes.

She felt the pulse in her ears continue its galloping race with her heart as Jon bared himself completely to her.

Sansa suspected that Jon's manhood was fairly sizeable but she had only the panicked glances at Theon's to use as comparison. Jon's seemed thicker and Sansa considered that yes - with that girth, he probably would hurt her a little after all.

The strange thing was that as she regarded him in his entirety, whilst also remembering what he'd done for her with his mouth and tongue - she wanted that pain, she would gladly welcome the stretch and sting that she imagined would occur for it would only be the first time and her first time just simply must be with Jon.

"Please don't look at me that way Sansa" Jon whispered hoarsely.

"What way"? Sansa blinked herself out of her reverie and focused on Jon's pained face.

"Like you want me just as much as I want you".

"Why shouldn't I look at you that way"? She whispered.

"Because....because you shouldn't encourage me...I'm having a hard enough time as it is and I need to go slow or I'll...I'll hurt you my love...Seven Hells! The Gods only know what I'll do if you excite me any further"!

Before Sansa could do anything about it, she could feel the wickedness of a smirk creep upon her lips. She hated that it was her Siren's curse affecting Jon so and not her. That it was but a magic trick and not real, but she couldn't deny that having this affect on him at all was rather delicious and emboldening.

She watched the way his muscled chest rose and fell, the way his fists balled at his sides and how he clenched his jaw making the muscle there tick.

Sansa could feel the energy thrumming throughout Jon's body above her once she finally convinced him to come and kiss her on the bed. She hummed and wiggled beneath him, clawed at him to try and pull him closer and closer - not that there was any space between their bodies to start with. Jon often had to break their kiss with a curse and eyes screwed shut, to concentrate on his breathing - working hard to steady it. Sansa knew she was not helping him by kissing his neck and rolling her hips but she did so anyway.

"Fuck Sansa, I want you" he cursed, bucking his cock against her cunny.

"Then have me Jon" Sansa breathed.

Sansa braced herself for the pain that didn't truly come as her slickness turned Jon into a slow glide inside her. Sansa gasped and Jon groaned and cursed. There was a sort of sore tenderness between her legs with her cunny now full of Jon, but Sansa welcomed it as he began to carefully pull out to then glide back in again. She found she liked it best when he was fully sheathed inside her, the base of him pushing against the pearl that Jon had licked and sucked at earlier.

Sansa moaned and wrapped her legs around him, always trying to bring him closer, to get him to touch her more, everywhere.

"Did it hurt"? He asks placing soft feathery kisses on her cheek and along her jaw to her chin.

"No". It wasn't the complete truth but she wasn't about to tell him that.

Sansa was getting used to the deliberately slow thrusts Jon was giving her as she looked up at him hovering above her. He was breathing heavy out of his nose and had his eyes closed in concentration. Sansa leant up and stole a sweet kiss from his lips.

"Sansaaa" he said in a warning tone making it known to her that it wouldn't take much to push him to give into his urges. So she stole another kiss.... and another... and then moved her attentions down to his neck

Jon emitted a throaty growl and started rocking into her faster and faster, until her bed began to creak with his movements.

"Fuck!....Sansa...uuunnn....Gods"! Jon chanted in her ear, the bristle of his beard bumping her cheek.

He reached down and hooked an arm behind her knee, guiding her leg to come higher - almost to his shoulder. Sansa gasped at the new angle and sensations. Jon stilled.

"Am I hurting you"?

"No" Sansa huffed and bucked her hips up to encourage him "I'm not made of fine glass you know".

Jon actually allowed himself to smile at that. "No, you're much more precious".

Sansa rolled her eyes at his ridiculous proclamation making Jon laugh. Sansa couldn't help but grin in return as she felt Jon's stomach muscles jump and contract against her.

"I love you" he whispered before capturing her lips and resumed his thrusting. Sansa knew that this wasn't the first, and would not be the last time that she desperately wished she could believe him.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jon tore his lips from hers and set his eyes to bore into Sansa's fiercely. Pleading with her to see that she wasn't just a cursed girl, she was his everything.

Sansa watched curiously when Jon's breathing became heavy and harsh, his whole body stiffened, his face pinched and then went slack as he reached his peak. He mumbled something of an apology for not pleasing her. Jon then shifted to her side where he nuzzled into her hair and busied his hand at Sansa's cunny.

With his fingers, Jon made her feel that wonderful full body tingle and shudder again quite quickly. Once her own breathing evened out she noticed Jon's was not that of a man relaxed and that there was something quite hard poking her at the hip.

"Sansa" Jon rasped as he planted kisses behind her earlobe and at the crook of her jaw. "Sansa, can I have you again"?

***********

Over the following days they make love everywhere. Nowhere seems to be off limits - the kitchen table, the armchairs, the yard, the bathtub, all over the moorside, even poor old Berta's bed (Seven save them).

Jon's appetite for Sansa never seems to abate - which is to be expected considering her Siren's curse but what surprised Sansa is that her own level of desire matched his.

 _Perhaps Jon has something of the Siren about him too_ , she muses one day whilst straightening her skirts after Jon had just taken her against a tree in the copse where he'd found her. _He is very handsome._

On the rare occasions that they are not intertwined, panting and rutting against one another like animals, Jon helps out in the yard and sets about fixing long overdue failings about the cottage. He rides into the village to replenish their food stores - both being able to journey there and back faster than Martha on her mule and being able to carry more too.

Jon even accompanies Sansa when she takes a fancy to go out drawing again. He sits behind her on the moorland floor, wrapping his body around hers tight, allowing Sansa to lean her weight back into his chest as his legs splay out bent on either side of her. He plays with her hair and kisses her neck as he watches her draw. Jon even attempts a sketch of Sansa's favourite wild violets himself but they both soon descend into fits of laughter at his terrible efforts.

"I'm not sure how Jon, but you've made these beautiful little flowers look like tiny grumpy faces on stalks"! Sansa giggled. Jon feigned outrage and silenced her laughter with a kiss that soon led to Jon's drawing being crumpled beneath two writhing bodies.

For the first time since her sixteenth nameday, Jon makes her feel safe, and that it is a fine thing to be wanted and desired. Even though she sees it - that mad heat in his glare as he watches her go about her chores, waiting for an opportunity to pounce and claim her again - Sansa can feel herself begin to believe those sweet words he chants in her ear when they're making love, or when she sets down his meagre bowl of broth in front of him, or when he's staring at her by the fire - _I love you, I love you, I love you._

She finds herself reminding her heart of her blood curse less and less as the days meander by and knows she's on the cusp of telling him too - _I love you, Jon. I think I've loved you since that day you saved me._

Her words never come to fruition.

"You've been awfully quiet lately Jon" Sansa enquiries as she brings his drink out into the yard. Jon's stern solemn look had returned after he had seemed so happy and carefree over the past half a moon.

He paused and studied Sansa carefully before answering. "I have to leave Sansa" he says, shirtless and sweaty from chopping a rather large pile of firewood, wiping his brow with his forearm.

"Leave"?! Sansa's jaw drops.

"I have to join with the Dragon Queen....I have to protect you from what's coming, I have to stop it.....The Red Woman said-"

"I don't give a shit what the Red Woman said Jon, you're not going... you're not leaving me!...not again"! Sansa yelled, angry tears threatening to make themselves known.

Jon's features soften and he devours the three strides it takes to get to Sansa and gather her in his arms. He's all bare chested and sweaty but Sansa doesn't mind as she clutches onto him, as if that would stop him from going.

 _Please don't go! Please don't leave me!_  
  
"I love you Sansa" he says, like he has so often before. Sansa tilts her head up and catches his mouth hungrily, trying to answer him with her kiss, pleading him to stay with her desperate lips.

Before she knows it, Jon has backed her towards the stone well.

"I love you" he says again between kisses before he swiftly lifts Sansa up and seats her on the stones, clutching onto her should she feel too precarious sat atop the well.

Jon makes quick work of the lacings at his breeches as he mouths the tops of Sansa's breasts greedily. Sansa hooks her arms under his shoulders, her hands splayed across his back, anchoring him to her. She parts her legs to allow Jon to push aside her smallclothes and thrust into her desperately.

Jon groans and stills momentarily to capture her lips again. "Sansa, I love you" he repeats before setting a hard and steady pace against her, gripping onto Sansa's rear, his fingers biting at the flesh even through her skirts.

"I love you so much sweet girl" he says once more as they stare at each other during Jon's relentless thrusting. Sansa knew right then and there that he was already gone, he was already leaving her once more. She silently pleaded for him to stay as he implored her to understand.

It was one of the only times that Jon hadn't been able to make Sansa reach her peak as he spilled inside her, shouting obscenities and huffing repeatedly into her shoulder. "I love you" he whispered again, but all Sansa could hear was 'goodbye'.

**********

It had been a moon gone since Jon had left her and Sansa still won't allow herself to think of that day. The day she watched him slowly getting smaller on the horizon as she prayed to anyone who would hear her that he'd turn around and come back. He had promised her he would return as he wiped away a tear upon her cheek. She wanted to believe him but everyone leaves her, nobody stays.

And so, with almost constant tear tracks etched onto her cheeks, Sansa Stark was alone again - at least she thought she was.

Martha had barely dismounted from her tired mule when Sansa welcomed her warmly and blurted out her request.

"I need a woman to come and stay with me, someone with experience of the birthing bed" she beamed, clutching at the tiny swelling of her belly. Martha gasped and placed her hand on top of Sansa's.

"You're with child?!... who?...did someone violate you my dear"? Martha asked full of concern.

Sansa shook her head.

"But I thought....your curse..."?

"It was a man I loved" Sansa replied, her smile losing some of its vigour.

"Where is he now lovey"?

"Gone".

*************

Little baby Violet burst into the world screaming - _and she hasn't stopped making a ruckus ever since_ , Sansa thought at she chased her squealing two year old around the kitchen table.

Her little girl gave her reason to carry on after Jon left, her hope that he would return after the war was quickly dashed by one of Martha's visits.

"Your brother...the bastard..."

"He's my cousin now" Sansa corrected, trying to stay calm to hear what news of her lover.

"Oh yes, that's right...yes, him...he's done quite well for himself I hear" Martha pauses to take a chunk of bread and dip it into her soup. Sansa wants to slap it out of the woman's hands. "Well he's with the Queen now you see, gone down south with her, part of her regular advisors they say - how's about that for a bastard ay"?!Martha chuckles warmly and completely misses that the woman across the table is shattering into a million pieces.

"There's a rumour that the Queen is like you my lovey" Martha mumbles through chewing teeth.

"Like me"?

"Yea...says she's got the touch of the Siren's blood" the woman then leans forward, pointing her piece of bread at Sansa "I reckon that's why she surrounds herself with those cockless soldiers of hers" she elaborates as if whispering a conspiracy before grinning proudly.

_Siren's blood? Stronger than mine I'll wager - to keep Jon with her for almost three years when I couldn't make him stay but a moon._

"Yea...well...what with your cousin being a dragon now, people have been wondering when they might be wed....they've been back in the capital now for nye on a year or so...I wouldn't be surprised if it's very soon" Martha mused but Sansa wasn't really paying attention.

 _Perhaps she's not a Siren, perhaps he loves her truly?_ She wondered with her heart like a millstone, as she stroked Violet's dark curls where she sat happily on her mother's lap.

********

It had been nearly four years since Sansa watched Jon leave her. At first a war keeping them apart and now a silver haired beauty, a Targaryen Queen.

Sansa sometimes catches herself imagining Jon touching his royal bride with the passion and reverence that he did with her.

_Would she make him growl and groan the way he used to with me? Would he stare heatedly into her eyes while they made love? Would he do that thing with his tongue for her?_

"Mama...what's that over there"? Violet said, shaking Sansa out of her unpleasant musings.

_Oh Gods! Someone is coming!_

There was a small dark mark on the horizon that was undoubtedly someone on horseback, maybe two people. It definitely wasn't Martha as they were approaching from the wrong direction. Sansa hasn't had to hide from a wanderer since Violet was a baby and panic began to set in.

She gathered her daughter up in her arms, and doused the fire in the hearth with a pail of water, it hissed into submission as she found the cellar door under the well worn rug and descended the stairs with Violet, trying to pull the rug back into place as she closed the door.

Once in the dark of the cold cellar, she fumbled around to find the small wooden box she had placed down there when her daughter was born.

Violet complained loudly that she didn't like the dark and that it smelt funny.

"I know darling, but we're playing a game...here, Mama needs you to try this magic potion!...it will make you into a princess"! Sansa tried to keep her nerves from fraying and sound excited about her ruse as she dipped her forefinger into the glass vial of Sweetsleep and offered it to her daughter.

_Sleep my darling, we need to be quiet._

Sansa could feel her pulse racing as she clutched at Violet's curls, holding her sleeping daughter's head to her shoulder. She began to hear the intruders sooner than she thought.

"She's not here...you've held me captive and dragged me across the Narrow Sea to bring me to an abandoned shack"! A man's voice grunted in a thick accent amongst the shuffle and scrape of boots on the floor.

"What are you doing'"? The same man said.

"Someone's here, the hearth is still warm...she must be hiding" came a familiar voice that made Sansa freeze in hopefulness and anger all at once.

_Jon!_

"Clever girl" said the other man.

_Why would Jon bring someone here? Bring a MAN here?!_

"Come on, I'm going to check the outhouses" Sansa heard Jon command, the other man grunted.

Jon knows she's here, she can't hide forever - even if there are plenty of provisions down in the dank little cellar. Slowly she creaks open the door and ascends the steps, clutching her sleeping daughter. With her heart in her throat, Sansa makes her way out to the yard to face him.

Jon freezes when he sees her, his eyes grow wide when he takes in the precious sleeping bundle Sansa is carrying. Sansa gives the other man a cautious flick of a look but it's Jon she stares at, her breath hitching at the sight of him.

His hair and beard are longer and unkempt, he looks a little thinner and he's wearing some new scars about his face. Jon's companion is bound at the wrists and is tethered to Jon by a thick rope. The stranger has been staring wildly at Sansa and growls loudly before making to lunge at her, only for Jon to yank him back forcibly by his rope bindings.

"Let me go!..LET ME HAVE HER"! The man screeched and Sansa flinches back, holding her daughter tighter as she once again wonders why Jon brought a man with him. In a move that looked cold and unfeeling, Jon unsheathed his sword and struck the man at his temple with the pommel. The unknown man was a pile of flesh and red rag clothing on the dusty floor.

Sansa's eyes were back on Jon, she could see he was staring at Violet's inky curls as she cupped the back of her head and held her close.

"Is...is she..."? Jon stammers with a look of shock and awe about his face.

"Yours? Well no one else has visited to _fuck_ me then _leave_ Jon, so yes, she is from the seed _you left me with_ " Sansa spat. The look of pure pain that flashed across Jon's face wasn't nearly as satisfying as she thought it might be. He opened his mouth to speak only to close it again.

Sansa sighed out an exasperated noise. "You left me Jon".

"I had to fight...I had to protect you" he argued.

"Yes and how long since the war with the dead ended? Almost two years?...Where have you been? What have you been doing?! ....no wait, don't answer that because I don't want to know about your new Queen bride".

Jon creases his brow in confusion. "I love _you_ , Sansa".

Sansa takes quick long strides towards him, half wanting to smack those lying words right out of his mouth, half wanting to kiss him for saying them. "Well which is it Jon? You did not return to me as you promised... _instead_ you went South with _your_ Queen... do you tell her that you love her too whilst you fuck her"?! Sansa was shaking now and she noted Jon was too, although she suspects his unease is more to do with her blood curse and less to do with anger.

"Sansa"! Jon grabs both her upper arms but she shrugs out of his grasp violently, jostling little Violet in the process. Sansa lets out a single sob and turns her face away from him.

"You left me" she whispers.

Jon takes a long drag of air into his lungs and wets his lips before speaking. "Sansa.....Sansa look at me, _please_ "? She concedes begrudgingly with unshed tears glimmering in her eyes. "I was injured in battle" he paused and patted his thigh, "for some time after, I was treated with Milk of the Poppy....I _honestly_ cannot tell you one thing about the journey South, only that before I knew it, we were marching under the gates of King's Landing".

Sansa continued to glare her stony expression, not allowing him to crack her defences.

"There were those who expected me to marry Danaerys but I would _never_ do that Sansa, you have to know that"! Jon implored with upturned palms.

"Still doesn't explain why you haven't come back until now". Sansa cocked one of her legs out to the side, only just resisting tapping her foot like an impatient nag.

"I had to convince her to let me go...to help me...it wasn't easy….she-she wanted me to love her, to lay with her but I couldn't - I would _never!_....I needed her help - I didn't know where to begin looking...I needed information that only her backing could give me...." Sansa just stared at him, anger and now confusion on her face. "I've been searching for _him_ " Jon gestured to the man on the dirty floor with his hand still grasping the rope.

"Him? Who is he"?

"He's a Red Priest....Sansa, he can break your blood curse, he's done it before….I sent a messenger to you to let you know - a woman...did she not make it to you”?

Sansa shook her head and stared at the motionless man on the ground with awe.

_He could break the curse? I could be free of it?_

"I know you never fully believed my love for you...this will prove it, you'll not doubt my words...I swear it".

Sansa stayed silent, not willing to let her heart soar just yet.

"If I had known..." Jon stared at the back of their daughter's head and makes a move to reach out and touch her hair. Sansa shrugs her away from him and holds Violet tighter. Jon's eyes flicker with hurt. "I would have come back sooner.... I would have abandoned my search for him".

Sansa glances back at the Red Priest and wonders which would be better - to have waited as long as she has, but have the chance of knowing that Jon's love is true, or having him with her sooner but doubting his proclamations?

She honestly didn't know.

"You could have guessed" Sansa huffs and shifts Violet to her other hip "you....we....we coupled many times...it wasn't a huge surprise when my moonblood didn't come".

Jon swallowed and stared at the little person in Sansa's arms. "Aye...you're right...of course you're right...I didn't think...I just..." he shook his head at himself. "I just wanted you to know that when I tell you of my love that it is nothing but truth...and...the Queen, once she accepted that I would only ever be with you - only you...she offered me Winterfell...her Unsullied, they took it back from the Boltons, they hold it until I return... but it's yours Sansa...I wanted for you to be able to return there and be able to walk the grounds without the fear of men...it's much changed from what we remember I'm told...it needs restoration, but I wanted to give that to you...it's yours Sansa".

Sansa scanned the face that has been burnt into her heart before turning to go back inside. "You must be hungry, I have some stew if you want some" she calls back over her shoulder.

"I've secured the Priest in the outhouse, he won't be gettin' loose" Jon said as he passed over the cottage's threshold and stood watching Sansa lay their little girl down on the armchair and arrange cushions and blankets around her. "What's her name"? He asked in a strained voice.

"Violet".

Jon smiled to himself at that. "What is she like"?

Sansa began smoothing back her daughters unruly curls as she spoke with warmth and adoration. "She loves the outdoors, hates being cooped up inside...she is inquisitive, _never_ quiet...just when I think she's run out of questions she'll come up with ten more" Jon's smile widens behind her. "She's braver than she should be, hardly bats an eyelid when we go galloping upon Griffin". Sansa turns to Jon then with a smirk and an arched brow "even at this young age she's much better at drawing than you are".

A bright grin lights up Jon's face, his eyes glimmer with joyful tears and are framed by crinkles in the corners.

I've missed so much" he whispers as his face falls and Sansa stands up to turn to him.

"You have" she nodded in agreement "but you're here now".

"Aye, I'm here now" Jon repeated as Sansa began slowly walking towards him, his eyes intent on hers.

"And you'll never leave me again...you'll never leave us again"?

"Never" he breathed. Sansa reaches up to cup his cheek as his eyes close, they open again as Jon repeats his vow with a serious and solemn face. "Never, Sansa.... _Never_ ".

**********

Sansa had retired for the night, taking Violet with her to her bed. Jon had been disappointed but not surprised that she hadn't woken from the drop of Sweetsleep - they didn't expect her to wake until the morning. Sansa had warned him that she didn't know how Violet would react to Jon once she does wake, what with her not ever seeing a man before in her short life.

They agreed to persuade the Red Priest tomorrow to perform the ritual that should break Sansa's Siren's curse, making her blood no more enticing to men than any other woman. Jon was tense and his jaw tightened as he explained that Sansa would need to lie and claim to the priest that she would allow him to have her, but only after he performed the ritual.

Sansa's not sure if the man's magic will work but she prays that it does and Jon's time away searching him out would not be in vain.

 _Jon is here now. That's all that matters, Jon is with us_.

She suddenly hears a shuffle and a scrape outside of her door and can see the flicker of candlelight creep in from beneath it.

Jon tumbles backwards down on the floor with a grunt when she opens her door to see what he's up to.

"Jon"?

He smiles and sits up. "Can you close the door again and humour me a little my Lady"?

Sansa obliges and only realises what he's about when she sees Jon's fingers appear at the gap under the door. She smiles and seats herself on the floor as she did all those years ago back in her childhood chambers at Winterfell. He only begins to speak when Sansa brushes her fingers over his.

"I have something for you" Jon's fingers disappear briefly and are replaced by a piece of parchment slid beneath the door.

Sansa takes it and grins at the terrible drawing on it. There is some sort of beast with wings, another with sharp teeth and a grumpy little face on a stalk. A giggle escapes her.

"Incase you can't tell" Jon says through the wood, "it's a dragon, a wolf and a violet".

Sansa can't hold back her laughter "you have not improved Jon" she chuckles. She can hear his deep murmur of a laugh behind her.

"Turn it over".

Sansa complies and holds her breath momentarily when she reads words in Jon's own hand.

**_Sansa Stark, my beloved Princess of the North,_ **

**_Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you, missed you, adored you._ **

**_You think it is the Siren's blood ~ it is not._ **

**_I am not as gifted with words (or drawings) as you are my Lady, but please know this, although my words are not eloquent, they are true. I love you._ **

**_You think it is the Siren's blood ~ please believe me when I say it is not._ **

**_I will see to it that you are restored as the Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of The North. I would be the father that our daughter needs, if she'll let me. I would fight a thousand wars should it make you both happy, I would fight a thousand more should it keep you both safe. I would take you as my wife, if you'll allow it._ **

**_You think it is the Siren's blood, trust me my love, it is not._ **

**_Forever yours_ **

**_Jon_ **

Sansa rises from her seated position and promptly yanks the door open. Jon tumbles backwards again where he had been leant up against it.

She stares down at him where he lay flat on his back for a while. Jon silently pleading with her to answer him, to accept him.

"Yes" Sansa says in a cracked whisper.

"Yes"?

She moved to sit on him there on the floor, straddling his waist. "Yes" she repeats with tears threatening to fall before she leans down to give Jon a soft kiss.

*******  
Sansa's belief in Jon's love did not come to her overnight after the ritual. It was but a few days into their travel back to Winterfell that she whispered those words back to him as she gripped his shoulders while he moved above her, touching, tasting, caressing and loving every inch of her. _I love you too Jon, so so much._

Winterfell was indeed not at all how they left it. It needed much repair and Jon had managed to secure extra coin from the crown to do so.

Jon's royal Aunt allowed him to stay in the North as long as he took the Targaryen name. All of the North knew it were dragons now that hold the seat of Winterfell - that did not stop them from referring to Jon and Sansa as Lord and Lady Stark, herald them as 'The Wolves Returned' or making sure that the number of grey and white banners that flew atop the ramparts outnumbers those of black and red.

Even though Sansa knew the castle was the largest in the Seven Kingdoms, after the freedom and expanse of her beloved moorside, she felt a little like that trapped bird in a cage again. It would take a few years for her heart to finally feel utterly calm within the walls. It would take even longer for the Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North to feel comfortable in the presence of men - but Jon was with her at every step of the way, making sure no man got too close to his bride even though they both knew they would not be driven mad with lust - Not like Jon still was in their bedchamber...or in the hot-springs....at an abandoned stables....and that one devilish time in the kitchens at the dead of night.

Jon's loving relationship with Violet blossomed quickly. She was a plucky little thing and did not shy away from the first man she ever saw. Instead, she was bursting with curiosity and launched a million questions at him that just kept on coming as the days and moons went on - just as Sansa said she would. Jon was more than happy to answer each and every one of them. Well, apart from some of the queries she would have about the new brother or sister growing in her Mother's belly.

In the years to come, all nine sons and daughters of Jon and Sansa Targaryen are happy and cherished. And at some point or another in their lives they have each wondered why their mother keeps with her at all times an awful drawing of what they assume is a bat, a dog and a grumpy little face on a stalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW - that was a long one - sorry about that! Hope you're still with us!


	7. Hers to Endure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa begins to discover a strange new ability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been an absolute BLAST to be part of this amazing project with such incredible writers! I'm really happy to have participated and humbly present my chapter!
> 
> Additionally, if anyone would like to join me on Tumbler freaking out over the Season 7 pics, find me at: kat-snow2613

Sansa couldn’t remember how it started. There had been no one to touch or hold during her time in King’s Landing, so it might have started then, but she couldn’t say for certain. She just remembered one cold afternoon in the Vale, when Sweetrobin had begun to thrash and twist on the cold stone floor. 

There were so many sharp edges for him to hurt himself on. She’d been terrified. She just wanted it to stop. She knelt by him and gently laid her hands on him, making soft sounds as she did. His shaking began to slow, and his breathing returned to normal. After a few minutes, he was fine, calm even. She simply assumed that her touch had comforted him.

Then one afternoon she and Myranda had been sitting by the fire, mending their clothes. Randa didn’t realize that the iron was fresh from the fire and grabbed it with her bare hand, before she dropped it, shrieking.

“Seven hells!” she cursed, clutching her hand. There was no water in the room to cool the burn and her eyes were tearing up. Sansa reached for her hand and held it, not knowing what else to do. Myranda’s expression softened. When Sansa finally pulled her hands away, there was no burn to be found. 

“That’s…queer. I thought I burned myself something awful. I guess it just stung,” Myranda said, suspiciously examining her smooth flesh.

She tried to test the limits of this strange new ability. She found one of the Royce’s hunting dogs, licking a bloody paw, after a scrap with one of the other dogs. When it finally allowed her close enough to take the paw, the flow of blood stopped and the flesh seemed to bind itself until there was nothing but a shiny new scar. But when she found the lame old mule that had been limping for years, nothing she did helped, and she eventually gave up when Mya asked what she was doing.

Then, there were of course times that she could have helped, but chose not to. 

When Petyr clawed at his throat, struggling to breathe, Sansa folded her hands neatly in her lap. 

The entire time they traveled to Winterfell, she did not truly believe she was headed home. She waited for the Royces to admit it was a cruel trick, and they were delivering her to Cersei Lannister. But they docked in White Harbor, and rode the rest of the way.

When she saw the broken towers and walls, her heart sank. She wondered if her hands could repair brick and stone. 

She could not repair brick and stone, but she could repair the men inside. 

There were so many men who needed help: Northerners, wildlings, Baratheon men. The realization came to her the very first day. She could not help them all. Some were too badly injured for her to be able to help. Others were not injured enough to warrant her time. She would have to pick and choose. And so, she moved among the men, moaning and crying for their mothers. She stopped to help this one, but not that one. This one lived, while that one died. She wondered if the Father would curse her, for taking judgment out of his hands. She wondered if the Stranger would find her, seeking the lives she’d saved.

She was always careful to drape a cloth over her hands while she worked, so that it might look like she was simply stitching their wounds. 

One day a maester with a sweet round face and black robes saw what she was doing. 

“My-my-lady!” he stammered.

“Hush. No one can know,” she said simply, as she moved on to the next, wiping blood off of her hands. 

There more men every day. And every day, she had to decide between green boys who hadn’t kissed a girl, or husbands who might never know their children. She wasn’t sure if she had been given a gift or a curse.

Then, one day, they called for her. 

When they laid him down in front of her, she almost did not recognize him. Half of his face was a bloody mess. She lifted his cloak to find a gaping wound. If he’d been any other man, she would have replaced his cloak, said a prayer, and moved on. But she could not let this one die. He was the last bit of her family. He was Father’s fairness and Robb’s laugh and Arya’s spirit all within one person.

She set her hands to his wound and concentrated. There was something wrong. The wound was cold. This was not done by a man’s blade. 

She steadied her hands, and began to probe the slippery flesh. Jon groaned, the first sign of life out of him. She was growing desperate when she felt her fingernail snag something. A tug, and it came free. She examined it in her hand. Under the blood, it was a milky shard of glass. Even in her hand, it was still cold.

She set it aside and returned to the wound. The flesh began to knit, but more slowly than she’d seen on other men. She lowered her face to the ear that wasn’t a bloody mess.

“We’re home, Jon. It’s almost over. I know you’re tired. But you only have to hang on a little while longer, and everything will be fine. Just a little while longer, and I promise you everything will be fine from now on, you’ll see,” she whispered.

His eyes were glassy. 

She held her hands to the wound in his side until the flesh was sealed. The skin was still red and angry, but at least it was whole.

She placed her hands on either side of his head and concentrated. She could feel it the moment she put her hands on his face: he was in so much pain he wanted to die. She wasn’t going to let him. 

She held on to either side and kept murmuring soft words. She prayed to the Mother, the Father, the Old Gods, anyone who would listen. His flesh gradually began to bind itself, though his ear was still a jagged mess. She’d healed everything on the outside, but this pain was inside of him. She could still feel it. She didn’t know what to do. It was going to kill him if she didn’t do something, but what?

Out of pure desperation, she lowered her lips to his. She tasted the blood in his mouth. She tried to force the darkness away from his mind. She thought of everything good in their lives before they had taken the King’s Road in opposite directions. She thought of Old Nan’s stories and fresh snow and direwolves. She willed Jon to remember.

She pulled her mouth away from his. He blinked at her. For the first time, he seemed to see her. She knew he couldn’t speak yet. She just stroked his face. She stayed with him the entire night.

It was days before he began to groan and cough. She would trickle honeyed water into his mouth and sing to him. Other men were dying, but she did not leave him. 

It was a full week before he said a single word. He coughed, and looked up at her. “Sansa,” he croaked, his voice so hoarse she barely recognized her own name. She took his hand and urged him not to try to speak yet. 

He eventually began to drink broth, and then one day, sat up in bed. Tears streamed down Sansa’s face. Jon was going to live.

It took months of Sam and Sansa’s help, and Jon’s iron determination, before he was walking. His strength gradually began to return to him, but he never heard out of his right ear again. Sansa would walk on his right, to repeat anything Jon might have missed.

The darkness was defeated, and life came back to Winterfell. Their love grew in the spring and they were soon wed.

Sansa eventually accepted what she had always known on some level. She could not continue to use this ability. Their children would never learn caution or discipline if they could go to their mother to cure every scrap or cut. Her boys would have to suffer the stings of practice swords and the pain of a fever like any other child.

But one day the hunting party returned far too soon. There was screaming in the yard, and calls for the maester.

They put laid Aemon on the bed. He was tall for a twelve year old, but with blood spreading across his pants and terror in his face, he was her babe all over again. Anywhere else, the cut might not have been lethal, but the spear had crossed his thigh. It could kill him at any moment. Sam sat at the side of the bed with a needle and thread.

“Get out of the way,” Sansa ordered her maester.

Sansa placed her hands over the gash. She closed her eyes and prayed. She could feel her son’s skin tightening under hands. She held on longer than she needed to, wanting to be sure. When she finally looked up there was a bright red crescent, but no blood poured from it.

They washed Aemon and changed his clothes, while Sam got him milk of the poppy, but Jon could only stare at Sansa.

Once their son had fallen asleep, Jon finally spoke.

“It was you.”

Sansa was still at Aemon’s side, watching his chest rise and fall. She raised her eyes to Jon.

“I was supposed to die that day,” he started. He was still wearing his clothes from the hunt and his hands and arms were covered in Aemon’s blood. “I knew I was going to die. I could feel it. I was ready for it. I wanted an end to the pain. I knew no maester could heal me. But you did. You kept me alive,” he said, still not believing it, even as he said the words.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Why?” he asked, still not sure, after all these years.

“I wanted you to live.”

She never used the ability ever again after that day. She was tested over and over again, but when Eddard screamed from a twisted ankle, or Lyarra sliced her hand open, she forced herself to care for them only as any other mother would. Sansa knew better than anyone that life meant learning to endure pain, and she would not keep her children from learning. Her children would one day rule from Dorne to the Wall, and they would need to know the dull ache and the sharp stab of pain.

It was years later that Sam, his sweet face now lined with age, told her that Jon did not have much longer.

She sat by his bed as she once had. She told him sweet tales, but this time they were of their children. She told him that Eddard now had a third boy by his Dornish wife, and Lyarra had forged another link at the Citadel, the first woman ever to do so. She told him that Daena would have been by his side, but she was representing her aunt in Essos. She read the poem that Brandon had sent. 

She touched his face. She allowed herself to feel below his skin. She felt his pain, but it was not getting worse. It was fading. He was fading. Against her better judgment she tried to pull him back, but it was like pulling on smoke. She knew these were her last moments with him.

“Our children, Jon, all of them. We made them,” she said, stroking his face. 

“Because you saved me,” he whispered

“I don’t think I can save you this time,” she said as she began to sob. “I could only save you once. That’s all the gods gave me.”

“You saved me…every day,” he said as his breathing slowed.

She kissed him and whispered that she loved him, and that he would not have to wait long for her. She’d be with him again soon.

He was buried in the crypts, with a sword across his likeness, and a stone direwolf at his feet. She knew the realm would sing songs of his deeds for a thousand years, but she wondered if they would ever know how deeply he loved. For the rest of her life, Sansa would visit Jon in the crypts. She would light candles, and tell him stories of their children, their triumphs and their tragedies, their joys and their pains.

In all of her years with her ability, Sansa had never tried to take away her own pain. She did not try now, for this pain was hers to endure.


	8. Syphoned Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark knows everyone's secrets and she doesn't like it - until Jon Snow becomes her secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I disclaim everything.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa is five the first time it happens.

She is jerked from sleep by a burning sensation. It is plunged into the depths of a mind that is not her own, burdened by feelings that belong to another. She is suddenly on the other side of the castle, in a room full of smoke and heat. Fire has devoured the furniture, and she is perched on the window sill, afraid, staring wide-eyed at the flames as they consume everything in their wake.

No, not her.

She realises with a gasp that she is seeing through Jon’s eyes.

His instincts told him to jump out of the window but his fears compelled his body to stay still. She’s not sure how she knows, but she is sure that he will let the fire consume him instead of jumping to safety.

“Jump!” she tries to tell him, but she realises she is asleep, and he cannot hear her.

From somewhere within her, Sansa pushes with all her will and strength. She feels a rush of warmth leave her like an arrow and find root in her brother’s mind. But he resists - he clings to the open window and screams for help.

You can’t die. This time, Sansa feels the rush pull through her body again with a command to jump.

As if Jon sensed the upcoming wave, his hand reaches the window and clings to it again but his footing betrays him, and he falls to the ground.

The air in her room has become stagnant. Tears are slipping from her tightly closed eyes, she buries herself under the covers absently while her traitorous mind refuses to leave his. Why should she be there for this? Is watching him die a punishment for not loving him?

His remaining thoughts register the point of no return. With a thud, he hits the ground.

At that same instant, helpless, consuming fear pours into Sansa’s chest. She’s in pain! She shrieks and grasps the nearest pillows, eyes shut tight against the fur. She waits for the air to pulse from her lungs upon the impact, her ankles to twist and sprain.

Not a moment later, the pain clears. She sits up in bed, blinking in darkness. Her half-brother’s wails of agony and incomprehension are floating up to her from outside. She runs to the nearest window and looks down at the small crowd of guards congealing around the boy on the ground with the bloody face.

It is impossible, and yet it is only a whisper of what is to come.

  
The next day Jon is on his feet, unscathed but a little stunned.

The Starks have magic in their blood. The wolf cures every wound they say. But Sansa can still feel the heat of the flames every time she comes near him.

She hates it. And yet she is curious.

As the days pass, she stays close to him, wondering if that strange connection between them will return. It doesn’t.

As the years pass, Sansa turns from a fearless child into a cowering wreck. It’s all too much. And when her moonblood comes, the curse becomes even worse. The occasional flicker of a feeling from Jon has become a daily deluge from everyone around her. Waves of emotion invade her mind at all times. From Robb’s competitive streak to Arya’s insecurities and to Bran’s juvenile fearlessness. She feels it all. Experiences it with them.

Sansa’s not herself anymore. She draws emotions from the people around her like a cloth soaking up water. In sleep, she floats on the backs of others’ dreams. One moment stuck in a nightmare, the next thrust into divine pleasure. The lines that separate her from the rest of humanity begin to vibrate out of focus like trembling strings.

Jon is the worst of them all. Always sulking.

She hates feeling his mind and she resents him for it.

One morning, after yet another sleepless night avoiding someone else’s nightmares, she snaps. He is staring at his plate as though he is mourning the eggs and potatoes on it.

“Is that all you ever do?”

He looks up at her, and she hates his sad eyes almost as much as she hates being inside his sad mind. “What do you mean?”

Of course, he doesn’t know. She can’t get him out of her head. It’s as if the inside of her skull has been painted with a generous coat of Jon. It is not an entirely unpleasant feeling, that Jon-ness; a little sticky and hot--sort of spicy. It’s male, which is kind of gross, but at the same time, it is kind of neat, too. She keeps wanting to jump over things and shout.

“Is everything really so bad? Can you not smile once in awhile?”

“I’ll try,” he manages, forcing a smile that comes across as a dreary grimace.

She feels his need to please her, and she almost sympathises with him. Instead, she just storms away in a huff. She doesn’t want to feel sorry for him.

Even so, she has managed to hold onto her sense of self, to brace her shifting outline, until the day Maester Luwin and her parents brought her into Father's study.

They sit before her with inquiring eyes that drifted between adoration and worry like dancing candle flames.

They explain the impossible to her.

Sansa is gifted.

She was a born syphoner. In ancient Westeros, they used to call people like her ‘Empaths’. Each House carries a Gift., and she has the Gift of House Tully. They cannot control the winds and the salted rivers like the Ironborn, nor shift into the body of a magnificent beast like House Stark or House Lannister do. House Tully carries the Gift of empathy, the Gift of controlling the balance of energy and thought. However, an empath hasn’t been born since Hoster Tully. After him, each child that was born with that gift died of birth fever; the newborn killing himself by syphoning his mother's childbirth pain. And for a very long time, it became a curse on House Tully lowering their numbers until the gift went extinct for decades. But now it has returned.

Maester Luwin explains that the healing wolf blood she’s gotten from her Stark side prevented the syphoning incident at birth. It kept her and her mother alive. Now, something has triggered her dormant gift.

Sansa has always known that she was born different. But hearing the thought take existence in the universe fills her with wonder and fear. What if she was never to be a part of the pack because of this gift? She worries. Her wolf is taking a great time to awaken -- even Arya has had her first transformation last moon and joined the pack in their night of union and celebration while Sansa was confined in her room. It makes her feel as though she has failed. Sansa has always been good at everything she touched except being a good shape-shifter -a real Stark.

Three years later, Sansa is still learning to control her gift.

The Maester has explained to her that she is a servant of nature, she has to alleviate pain and help others. Her gift is often used when her father and his men return from a long a journey. She syphons the pain from their wounds which accelerates their healing process. Often when Father has meetings with his bannermen and it didn' seem to be going in his favour, Sansa will slip into the room and draw the feelings of discord out of those warriors. Once they are in peace, they will usually agree with Father's decrees.

Sometimes Mother takes her to Winter Town and asks her to help women going through difficult child birthing. But neither Mother nor Father knows how much it costs her to help them. Syphoning pain from someone to give peace means she has to experience the pain herself, with the same intensity, wherever she takes it from. Her body will break under the pain in her bloodstream until the end of the process.

This gift is not easy to carry but it was the only thing she has. She is devoted to it.

Maester Luwin has taught her many ways to seal her mind from other people's emotions. They cannot enter her mind unless she allows it. It has worked very well for the most part. It keeps Sansa’s grip on sanity tight. But it has been unsuccessful when it comes to Jon.

Her father's bastard has become the bane of her existence. She cannot close her mind to him no matter how long she applies her exercises. To feel him under her flesh and in her blood was repelling and unwanted. There are days when she wakes up trapped in him -- his insecurities and fears overwhelming her. His unceasing shame of who he is and his tortured soul is too much for her. Sansa despises him for making her gift an instrument of torture instead of a blessing. What she hates the most is her inability to control his emotions. She cannot keep him at bay nor syphon his pain away because Jon is Jon. Jon is her first syphoned secret.

She voiced those concerns to Maester Luwin many times but his only response was that they could not discuss Jon’s case. When she reaches the age of ten and seven she finally understands why: Jon is different.  
He is like her. Half wolf and half something else. It manifests itself in his inner nature.

Sansa knows from his emotions that he has the wolf in him. It is trapped and sometimes close to taking control but there is something else concealing it. Something darker and foreign. A taste she has never experienced before. It scares him, and she savors his fears.

That something grows stronger everyday and on every full moon it reaches its great potential and finds a way out. It always does. Father and Maester Luwin know, but they keep it from everyone else, for fears of Jon being ostracised by the pack. The pack could react instinctively and see his otherness as a threat to their little ones and their females. They could try to eliminate him out of self-defense.

Thus Jon’s ambiguous nature has to remain hidden. So is her own nature, since she is unlikely to be welcomed by the pack. But Sansa is a female, any threat she represents is minimal compared to Jon’s secret.-

 

************

It begins for Jon when he is nine.

He wakes in the night to flames coming from his throat. The thing that has been trapped inside him has found a way out. He realises he is no wolf, but something different, something worse. A living fire that haunts him and hunts for blood. It nearly kills him that night. He survives, but what comes next can’t be considered living.

Every day becomes a constant battle between reason and instincts.

There are days his sanity is so far gone he wishes for death.

The hunger starts with a coldness that sticks in his bones, then pain shooting through his throat. No water can quench the thirst. Then he would be feverish and shaking. And finally, there is the hunger for blood. It was insatiable and it drove him to madness and erased his humanity. All Jon could think of was to strike, hunt and blood. Always blood.

The worst part is that he is alone. He goes to Maester Luwin in the library, but he waves it all off.

“You are a wolf of Winterfell,” he says.

This is no wolf, Jon thinks. But how can he put it into words? It burns.

“It’s a sign. You’re destined to become one of the strongest wolves of all,” Maester Luwin tells him.

Maybe there is a wolf inside of him. But this other thing inside him will not allow the wolf to take control. It renders him weak and buries itself underneath his flesh, deep into his soul, leaving him empty and starved.

 

***

Father knows about his deviant nature. He’s allowed him to hunt in the Wolfwood for animal blood. Father never questions his strange nature. But there is one rule. Never hunt a human or take human blood.

But sometimes the heat gets so strong that even animal blood cannot satiate him.

Under the full moon, the thing duels for control with the wolf.

The Wolfswood is not safe on nights like this.

Father keeps him hidden in a room in the depths of the castle with old magic. With a hair from each werewolf in Winterfell, and a few drops of Father’s blood. The Castle’s spirits weave each lock into a braid, and when it‘s grown long enough, they bend the castle to their will for a time, safeguarding the inhabitants from the monster in their midst. He could not escape the room even if he wanted to. The room would become a living weapon that will kill him before he can manage to escape.

Tonight it is deadly. He’s already broken his arms trying to push the door open, but he is trapped – torn between two disparate parts of his soul. The hunger is growing wild and his roars of horror fill the dark room in the dungeon.

He lets his body sink to the cold floor - his nails scratching the walls in despair.

But then his body stills.

Something is here. Something with fresh blood and a beating heart. His ears grow heavy with the beat of hunger.

His muffled cries grow silent.

Take it take it take it.

He growls, and bounds to his feet.

Somewhere deep behind the shadow of need, his mind wonders how the intruder got into this locked room.

But that thought is soon replaced by images of his fangs plunging into bloody flesh and the satisfaction that would come with it.

When the beating rhythm gets closer, Jon pounces.

He hears a piercing scream.

But he doesn’t care -- his hands are already wrapped over hot skin.

 

Flashback******

_“When you drain someone to death, you take everything from them - down to the edge of their soul. Do it enough, and soon the abyss of a soul can be quite literal. You can taste it. Your heart turns black and your eyes violet with rage. It’s a poison, and dragon shape-shifters crave it.” Father said one day on their way out of the crypt after their evening visit to his mother._

_He smiled down at his frightened face._

_His lips quivering he asked. “But drinking from a source and killing are two different things. Why wouldn’t I be warned instead not to kill?”_

_“Because drinking human blood straight from the living would drive you insane. That is what happened to the Mad King, your grandfather and to all of your ancestors beside a few lucky ones.”_

_Afterwards, Father led him to the old library that was only open to Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane. He opened an ancient book and showed him the decayed pages that carried little drawings._

_“This is Aerys The First,” Father was saying, his voice echoing along the cold passageway amongst huge books. ''He murdered his own father to take the throne. This one here is the one they called Aegon The Fifth And this one here, under the stone carved with boats and dragons during his lifetime murdered his nephew and then married his own mother, Bertha Blackwood. They had a child together, but then he fell in love with his niece, Cassana Estermont. He killed her husband, married her, murdered the infant he had had with his mother, and sent the body back to her chopped into a dozen pieces. After Daeron Targaryen died, Cassana murdered Bertha as well. This Cassana we are speaking of was Robert Baratheon’s mother. When her son Robert Baratheon grew up, she tried to poison him as well, so…”_

_Jon stared up at his father wide-eyed. He held his hand in a death grip. He felt as if he were going to be sick. “Why are you telling me all this?”_

_“I am telling you so that you would know the truth about your family and your heritage. One day you will be Alpha of this pack. The Fifteenth alpha of Summer. Before that day comes, you need to understand that to rule Winterfell pack is as much burden as it is a gift. You must learn to respect these ancestors of yours even if many of them have done terrible things.” He hesitated. “I myself have done terrible things.”_

_“What terrible things?”_

_“I will tell you when you are older. Enough that you should understand it is the right of rulers to fulfil the plans they have, even though others might suffer for it. Betas will die in your battles, rivals be executed at your command. If you cannot assume that burden, then you cannot be an Alpha.”_

_He took a deep breath. “I understand,” he said, but he knew that his voice sounded very faint._

_“No, you do not understand, not yet. You will not truly understand until you have used your Targaryen powers for the first time and reached your dormant Stark wolf.” he closed the book and smiled at him. “ But you must know that Alphas do the will of the gods. That is where we obtain our authority and pardon for what we do here on earth.”_

_A rustling, from the shadows. A raven croaking outside._

_“I don’t like this place,” he whimpered, unable to understand so much information at once. A few moons ago he thought he was only a Stark born Snow and now there was this thing to tame._

_“You must understand your heritage, Jon.” Father insisted._

_“You are descended from a line of two trueborn Alphas. through your mother, Lyanna and through Rhaegar your father, whom the gods chose to join the Dragon pack and Wolfpack through you.”_

_“ I thought Uncle Brandon was the thirteen Summer Alpha? “_

_Father shook his head vehemently. “ The Heart Tree chose Lyanna. Brandon was her second, the strongest beta in our pack.”_

_“ Then how did you become our Alpha? “_

_“ By following the logical order of succession. My wolf grew stronger after…” he cleared his throat and looked away to hide his pained expression. “ After the rebellion, I took over.”_

_“What was he like?..my father”_

_“Your father . . .” he mused“ He wasn't Lyanna’s mate. Robert was Lyanna’s mate. The Heart Tree chose her for him but...Lyanna and Rhaegar, they did. .They made a blood bond. They created a soulmate bond.”_

_Father's eyes grew hard and inquisitive as if he wanted to pierce into him. “ It's unnatural and against the laws of men and the Gods. That is what Targaryens used to do. They choose their mates through blood and fire, creating soulmate bonds where they saw fit and insulting the Gods.”_

_Jon shook his head in fear. “I would...I would never do that.”_

_Father patted his hair. “ No, you would not. I will raise you to hold the best traits from both kinds. That is what you were born to do.”_

_He nodded, overcome by the chilling smell of death in this dark place, by the intensity in his father’s eyes. He believed everything he said. He was only nine years old, too young to sense his doubt or divine his fears. Too young for the truth yet._

 

 

************

 

Every full moon, Father and Maester Luwin hide him in the crypt. A place where no one can reach him or hear him roar all night away. And every time the moon graces the sky in its full splendour Jon’s spirit splits.

Sansa experiences it from afar. The crypts where Father hides Jon have their own magic and it prevents his emotions from reaching hers. Yet he is always close, teasing her heart, waiting for a sign, seeking a way in. Calling her to him.

Tonight is the full moon and Winterfell is emptied of its pack. They all respond to the call of nature and go to the Wolfswood to worship the moon. The only living souls left in Winterfell are Sansa, her non-gifted mother, her baby brother Rickon and...that creature down in the crypt.

Tonight its call was vibrant, hard and irresistible. Sansa cannot refuse him when her instincts are telling her to go to him and syphon the pain from him. She knows it to be dangerous. But she could not fight it if she wanted to. With tears drenching her face, she walks through the puzzle of corridors to search for him. Her rational mind keeps screaming to her to walk back to safety, to close her room and stay away from him. But Sansa had never experienced her gift in such level of understanding. It is archaic yet familiar. It is made up of a drop of happiness wrapped in a silver paper of compassion and love. It is love itself in the most unadulterated way. It was selfless and doting. And Sansa cannot fight it.

 

**********

 

Sansa hears a vicious growl. She feels claws sink into her shoulders a second before she is dragged to the cold ground and thrown onto her back. A hand covers her mouth.

“Never run from one such as me.” Her brother doesn't sound human. “You will not get away. And the dragon likes it.” His is voice is guttural like a beast’s, breaking, yet carried so much pain…

As she peers up at him through the dark, he examines her with eyes that are golden in colour one moment, then flickering into eerie grey the next. No, not human.

Up close, she can see his features were even ... he is glowing.

And his skin is uncharacteristically heated, almost burning. It seems as though he has swallowed fire and now it is running through his bloodstream.

The hand that was covering her mouth roughly grasps her chin. He narrows his eyes, focusing on her eyes - on her barely hidden tears. “No,” he chokes out. “Not possible….” He yanks her head side to side, running his face down her neck, smelling her, then growls in fury, “No!.”

When his eyes abruptly turn golden, she cries out, her breath seeming to leave her body.

He jumps off of her as if he has grown wings and flies the other side of the room. Sansa can see him no more but his heavy panting tells her that he is near.

He growls loudly with anger

Sansa recoils her shaken body away from him.

‘“Why are you here? Go away!” His voice is sharp with threats. “Sansa, just go away!”

Sansa wants to. His filthy, horrific claws are off of her but his pain is pressing her to the ground. She has to help.

No Sansa! Get out of here now! She screams to her more sensible part. The one that is not drugged and contaminated by Jon’s hunger and pain. Do it now!

“How did you get here?” his voice grates as though speech is difficult. “Answer me!”

She shakes her head, uncomprehending. She walked into the room easily. She felt the power of the spirits guarding the Castle tonight, mostly concentrated around this dark room- but it was like feathers on her skin as she walked past their defences to reach Jon.

“ I---I walked through the door...the spirits... they lifted their spells...I guess…” she stuttered

“Do not lie to me! What did you do to unlock the room?” Another growl.

“N-no.” She’s never been strong or skilled enough to do such thing. Father and Bran can control the Guardian Spirits at will. Even Rickon can speak to them but her? Never.

“Please.” She blinks against her tears, pleading with her eyes. “You have to let me...”

“Get. Out. Now!”

“Is there a way...a way to calm this hunger in you?” she breathes. Sansa feels his body stiffen and fear overwhelms him and something akin to shame….

“How?”

“What does father do when you are like this? What is happening with you?” she asks again. Shocked by her own boldness as she feels anger taking over him again.

He feels humiliated by her questions and mere presence, she knows. This is a secret that he’s held dearly.

You were never a secret to me, Jon. I always knew. I made you this way and you made me this way.

Her thoughts are as confusing as her body's reactions to him. Her défenses remain dormant. She is terrified of him. Why isn't her body?

She stands up and braves the small distance between them. Her shaky legs and hands finally steady. Sansa knows that it is the Gift. It is playing games with her mind to get her close to him.

“Did father tell you? Did he send you here?” he cries out.

“He did…” it is a lie but she is convinced that it is the only way to get him to cooperate.

She just has to touch him and syphon the anger. As a good little Empath is supposed to do.

How sweet would it be to return to the safety of her bedchamber and leave Jon to his monsters?

“What did he say?” he asks, his long hair veiling his face but Sansa can sense a little twitch of relief in his turmoil of emotions.

“Let me get close. Let me touch you, help you.” she breathes, her voice no longer shaking even though her heart is racing with unnamed terrors.

“I have no right to take it from you. He said I couldn't do it. It is forbidden. It is wrong! Father said that I should never...never…”

He moves like an animal, with aggression at every turn, though she’s noticed that his hands are shaking. The smell of sweat and smoke is growing thick in the room. Something is burning and Sansa is afraid to think that it could be him.

When he slowly limps to her in the middle of the room, her eyes widen and she eases backwards.

Still, he continues toward her, studying her with a greedy gaze as the smoke grows thick around them, stinging her eyes. Sansa looks around with wonder. She has never seen such a thing.

She looks back at Jon, his eyes are golden again but this time they are burning with lethal fire.

She is shivering uncontrollably, shaking her head. She cannot do this. He is a monster. A freak of nature. A creature from nightmares.

But his pain is so sharp it nauseated her. He could tear open her unprotected belly and kill her….but her mind still reacts irrationally to him. Jon’s emotions are teasing her with all kind of foreign sensations. She is itching to touch him and syphon the wrong out of him.

In the next move, she closes her eyes and grasps his hand. She hisses in pain and almost retracts her hand. He is hot! Hot like a burning candle. He stiffens. Sansa closes her eyes and tries to concentrate. She swallows and opens her mind to his. She floats until she’s reached the source of his hunger...It is deeply seated in his blood...

Blood! It needs blood.

She pulls her hand back and screams. Jon laughs.

“Now you know what you are facing! Go back to your room!” he orders, but when she steps back he closes the distance between them.

“I need to go now!” she breathes, staring at her hand. She felt the burn again like when she was a child and she had felt him for the first time.

“What are you?”

“A wolf!” she breathes, trying to get on her feet and escape.

“No! You don't smell like one...you smell like...like something else…” His eyes widen upon her hand. “You did not burn? Why?”

She almost rolls her eyes but she fears his reaction.

Just because my wolf is weak and is taking her time to appear does not mean that I do not possess healing blood.

Although she wonders why the burn has disappeared so soon. Is it another perk that has befallen on her from her Tully gift?

“You said you would help..”

“No!” she screams.

At those words, Sansa’s being connected with his again with so much passion and desperation that she forgets herself.

 

“How?".

“Father sent you here didn’t he? I need blood...always blood. This thing in me always needs blood.”

“Take it” she begs him.

He nods. “I need you. No matter what you are.”

At his baffling words, her body inexplicably softens, relaxing. Her fingers curl as if to clutch him to her. He pulls her to her feet and shoves her back against the nearest wall. She gasps in surprise and fear.

He flicks his claw down her nightdress and slices it open, then slowly brushes the halves past her breasts. She struggles, but it is useless against his strength and her own body’s lack of reactions.

He places his palms against her back to draw her to his chest. He groans when their skin touches, and adrenaline seems to flash through her. Tentacles of fire split the room and surround them suddenly. Sansa shrieks in fright but he seems unconcerned by the fire.

He rumbles incomprehensible words against her ear. She doesn't understand and yet they are tender words, making her thinks she’d lost her mind. She goes limp, her arms hanging while he shudders against her, his lips so hot against her gooseflesh as he runs them down her neck, across her face, even brushing them over her eyelids. There he squeezes her in his arms, clutching her; there she stands, boneless and dazed, as she watches the fire slashing around them.

His hand cradles the back of her head as he moves her to face him.

He seems torn as he watches her with some fierce emotion, she’s never been looked at that way. As if he wants to consume her, syphon her whole being with one take.

He traces a finger on her neck, and she closes her eyes in anticipation.

She can feel him kiss her jaw, then underneath her neck, and she pulls him closer, closer.

Finally, he lets his teeth slide over her skin, and then in one quick thrust, he strikes hard and fast, right in her neck. It’s not a friendly nip like the one Rickon used to give her when he was a babe.

Jon pierces her, bites down on her neck and it’s painful.

She’s always felt him. His emotions have always intruded her mind without respect or regard to her being but this...this is something of a different nature.

She gasps. It is the strongest she has ever felt him, the deepest intrusion into her body and mind, and one she has not been ready for.

He releases her for a moment, then he latches onto her again with an iron grip and sinks his teeth in so deep, Sansa thinks certainly that he will take a chunk out of her. He draws blood from her in the same momentum.

Then it hits her -- a wonderful joyous euphoria. It starts between her legs and works its way through her body. Sansa can feel his very life force intermingling with hers, can feel the beat of his heart in hers --the two of them together, as he holds her in his grasp.

Jon has her clawing at his back moaning and groaning with it. The fire around them reacts with the frenzied sensations, they dance, lash into the high ceiling. An illumination, a roaring rush like no other. Sansa watches with eyes wide open as her body implodes and convulses.  
She finds herself wrapped around him, humping on his thighs, and making guttural noises.

She feels wetness pooling down her trembling legs.

“Jon...Gods..Jon...Please...more...more…” she hears herself calling his name along with Gods as though the two are interchangeable to her.

For those minutes she held onto him, sucking the life out her throat, he might as well have been a God for all she knew.

In answer, Jon releases her for a moment, then bites her again. This time, when he kisses her with his teeth, the piercing sweetness fill her with that same painful but delightful ache. Her eyes roll back into their orbs and she cries out as she feels another implosion raging within her. She feels his body shaking with her own. She syphons and swallows his peak and almost tastes her blood through the pleasure she had offered him.

When it finally ends, she is spread eagled on his thigh, her legs wrapped around him tightly.  
Her hips keep humping involuntarily, rubbing her soaking wet center all over him and whimpering.

She just cannot stop peaking. Her body reacts of its own accord. She is sore and exhausted but she can’t stop.

She feels light-headed and dizzy and drunk, and her arms clutch his back as she pulls him ever closer, ever nearer.

Her arms are hurting from holding onto Jon so tightly, her jaw ached from her screams and her center is raw from the outbursts but she wants to grind onto him with every ounce of strength she has. He’s burned her out in minutes.

She feels totally limp when he untangles her arms from his neck. She whimpers in protest. She tries to stand up, but her legs won’t hold her weight. She collapses. Her breasts sting against the cold floor. Tears slip from her closed eyes..what has just happened here? What has he done to her?

Jon catches her in his arms.

He sits down on the floor and holds her, still shaking against her. He tucks her in as if he cares for her. Sansa feels so dizzy, drowsy, and nauseous. As she falls asleep she hears him talking to her.

“I did not know. I never knew that taking blood from someone could feel this way. Sansa...I’m so sorry it had to be you. This...that was glorious.”

Sansa frowns as her blurred eyes land on his bright smile. He is happy. For the very first time ever he feels peace…

 

 

*******

 

She lied to him. He knows it.

  
Father didn't send her to him and none of the things she allowed him to do to her was alright.  
Jon could not believe his ears that morning when Father had come to fetch him after the hunt. He’d hurried him out and instructed him to hunt in the Wolfwood without any mention of Lady Sansa. That was when the dots connected and Jon finally figured out with shame what he’d done.

Even though Father keeps telling him that there is good in him, that he will be another Jaehaerys Targaryen, a survivor of the Dragon curse, Jon cannot believe it anymore.

Jon almost admitted the truth to his father. That he lost control and committed an act that was as deadly to him as to Sansa. When he bit her, tasted her essence, he released something of himself into her. It was an act of binding, a ritual of mating as old as the first Valyrian men, and something that stemmed from the most primitive parts of his kind.  
That he’s committed such an act horrifies him. Sansa is a Wolf that would never accept him as a mate. The Heart Tree will see to it.  
He could not take her as a wife for his blood is not pure. Not like hers.  
And yet, in his passion, his hunger, in his need for her, he’s bound himself irrevocably to her.

Why then could he not sense her?

Jon is unaccustomed to worrying about Sansa and certainly has never fretted over her of all people. The fact that his senses have been unable to locate her for the last three days and he could not cross her path in the Keep, is filling him with a sensation he’s never before experienced. Anxiety. He does not like it. Doesn't like the gnawing in his gut, or not being able to sleep or food lacking taste.  
Is this what it means to bind yourself to someone? That you cannot find peace if you were unsure of their safety and well-being? That concern for them overcomes all else?  
If so, then he surely regrets his rash action, committed in the heat of bloodlust.

 

“I'm going to my room now,” he says as he bounds up from his chair, ready to leave the Great Hall.  
Sansa did not come to share the supper with the rest of the household.  
Jon was too scared to ask Robb or Septa Mordane about her whereabouts. Afraid that they will notice how afraid he was for her.

  
Arya appears behind him as he moves into the corridor. “Jon? Are you alright? Is it about the Wolf again? I told you that it would come out eventually. Just give it time.”

“Where is Sansa?” He blurts before he can stop himself.

Arya stops in her tracks, prompting him to stop as well.

“I knew that something was wrong with her when I could not stop smelling you on her. Did something happen?”

Jon closes his eyes shut.  
A lot of things happened, sweet sister. She knows about my deepest secret and I think I might have created a soulmate bond with her because Dragons have no boundaries and can mate with anything under the sun if they wish to.

“ What do you mean?”

“ I was doing this stupid embroidery task this afternoon and she offered to help after she mocked my task and came close...I smelt your scent on her.” Arya says with a frown.

Jon can feel himself panicking yet he tries hard to keep his composure.

“ We all live together and mingle all the time…” he suggests then resumes his walk back to his quarters.  
Arya follows eagerly.

“ Sansa never smells like you. At least, not like the way I carry your scent or Robb does because he trains with you. Sansa does not stand close to you.”

 

“ I don't know what you want me to say.”

Three days with human blood in his veins he is already lying to her. Jon laments silently.

“ What I mean is that you need to be careful. If she is mean to you and calls you names you would tell me right?’ Arya says with a reassuring smile.

“ And what would you do do to your sister?”

 

“ There are a lot I can do with my claws now that I'm a fully Wolf and she is not.”

 

“ Arya, you can not use your wolf to harm a member of the pack.”

 

“ I know. I was just jesting. But I want you to tell me if she treats you bad. Sansa is just following mother. I don't think she really hates you but sometimes she is too much of a Lady and cares about stupid etiquettes and…”

 

“ It's alright Arya. I know that your sister doesn't really hate me,” he says and ruffles her hair.  
She giggles.

“ Tomorrow I want you to tell me about your first hunt. I want all the details from smell, sight sensation everything. Since I'm not ready to become a Wolf, you could teach me about the experience.”

 

“ Jon it was wonderful! I’ve never felt so free. Jon when we were all running in the pack, I felt alive...Like I was a part of something important. Like I matter to the Gods but they didn't want us to run faster or further South. So we stayed in the Wolfwood.” she pouts.

 

Jon smiles at her and watches her grey eyes that mirror his own gleaming with delight. He commits the sight to memory.  
One day he will lose all of that to madness. At least he will have these moments with Arya.

He bids her goodnight and goes to his room.  
When he reaches his quarters, Jon finds a book slipped underneath his door. It is wedged tightly in the narrow space, and he has to pull it out carefully so it won’t bend or catch. _The Story Of_ Aemon _The Dragonknight_. He holds it up and flips through the yellowed pages. Inside the book is a black and red coloured ribbon, enveloping a key.

There is nothing else - no note, no names, nothing. Jon has no idea what the key is for, but he has an inkling that he should not ask anyone about it.

Before going to bed, he loops one end of a leather lace through the key and ties it around his neck so that it hangs underneath his shirt collar, hidden. The book he puts next to his pillows.

Jon read that story to Sansa when she was younger than Rickon, she didn’t like it very much; had found it depressing and severe. Why has she chosen to give it to him?  
Because, of course, the moment he picked it up, Jon knew who had given him the book -- there is no one else in the Great Keep that even cares about his interest in that particular tale from the Targaryen dynasty.

Jon tries to remember the story of the Dragonknight: a Targaryen Prince who is forced to serve his King brother and watch him marry his beloved, the Queen Naerys -- whom he longed for throughout his life. He struggled to hold on, fighting despair only because he so desperately wanted to stay close to her and protect her.

Jon's heart begins to beat a little too fast. Is it possible that he is reading too much into this? Certainly. Sansa is into pretty tales and songs. Maybe it is her way of telling him that she knows about his secret and what happened between them and she doesn’t mind?  
So what? Jon thinks, running his fingers through his dark hair before rolling on his stomach. So what if she’s given him a book and a key wrapped in Targaryen’s colours? He is still miserable. He is still living with the shame of what they did and even worse she would not show herself to him and explain her actions.

Maybe Sansa is just playing a game . . . toying with his emotions while he churns with confusion and desire. . .  
He tosses and turns in his bed until he grows tired. With a sigh of surrender, he gives in to the pull and sleeps.  
But his mind is still wide awake, looking for her

_Sansa! Sansa! Don't hide from me!_

 

*******

 

He tosses and turns, coming out of sleep feeling angry and out of sorts. In the kind of mood that could only be dispelled by one of two things. Sword training or blood.  
As if in answer to his thought another book has been slipped underneath his door. What is this all about? Is she building him a library? This time, since the book is too thick to fit completely, it has been shoved in the opening between the door and the floor, halfway in and halfway out, so that when Jon pulls it out, the pages are creased. The Tale Of Jaehaerys Targaryen. This time, inside the book there is a note.

_West Quarter, third floor. The fourth chambers. Midnight. Use the key._

Jon touches the key that hangs around his neck. The Dragonknight yesterday. Now King Jaehaerys. Is it a secret message? He wonders, amused. Of course, all those stories have something in common, two Targaryen who fell into the path of greatness and their beloved queen sisters.  
Aemon Targaryen and Queen Naerys. Jaehaerys and Alysanne the good queen--so obvious, isn’t it?  
Beyond that Jon always wanted to become a Jaehaerys Targaryen of his own and defeat the blood curse.

Feeling uncharacteristically reckless and giddy, and just a bit lucky--Jon scribbles a note, wraps it in The Tale Of Jonquil And Florian The Fool, and slips the book under Sansa’s door.

 

_Queen Alysanne, I will be there as requested. --King Jaehaerys_

 

At midnight, Jon slips the key in the lock and turned it. The room is dark and cold, which makes the view from the open windows even more breathtaking, the dark Godswood against the lights of the moon above sends a ribbon of grey and white lights through the room.

Jon steps inside and looks around. He closes the door behind him no one is there.  
And then, before he can breathe, there she is, against him, her warm lips on his cheeks, her hands wrapped around his neck, and he has dropped the key and the book on the floor. Jon wants to scream-- to ask questions--but he can feel Sansa’s heart beating against his and the intensity of the emotion exploding between them. Jon returns the embrace with an ardour that he did not know he was capable of. His hands clamp her tiny waist and he squeezes her against his body with a sigh of relief.

He buries his face in her neck as if to breathe in every part of her--and she buckles to the floor so that he falls with her until they are lying down, still holding each other, their bodies entwined like the roots of a tree.

 

*******

  
“Jon . . .” she finally says, when she has found her voice. He is lying on top of her, his weight heavy and yet light at the same time --a weight she wants to bear. “I . . .” She wants to tell him the same thing she has wanted to tell him since that night when he bit her.  
Sansa wants him to know about that night when they were both younger when she saved his life and he awakened her gift.  
She wants...she wants him to bite her again...she wants everything and she is afraid of it.

Jon looks at her and raises an eyebrow. He looks so serious in the moonlight, but his eyes are teasing. They are sparkling.

“ You lied to me Sansa.” he bends down to brush her eyebrows with his cool lips.  
Sansa shivers from the cold and his touch.  
She can feel her blood racing in her bloodstream.

“ I didn't mean to. I had to help you and that was the only way.”

 

“ Help me?”

“ That's what people like me do.”

“ You are a Wolf...you hunt, you howl to the moons the old Gods.”

She bites her bottom lip and smiles, he frowns even though Sansa can feel that he is amused.

“ I'm a Syphoner. An Empath from the Tully side of the family tree.”

Jon’s dark eyes narrow upon her but he nods his understanding. She knows right then that she doesn’t have to say anything.  
They understand each other perfectly.

“ How does it work?”

 

“ With most people, I need to get close enough or touch them.”

“ But?...”

 

“ With you, it's a bit different. Even when you are away I can feel you. Wherever you are.”

He pulls back but her hold on his neck tightens to keep him close.

 

“ How long?” he stutters his eyes wide with shock.

 

“ Since the night you burned your old room and you fell from the Tower.”

 

“ You…” he pulls her hands away from him and sat up. Sansa almost cries out at the loss.  
She wants him to touch her again, press her against him.

“ Yes Jon, I always knew about you.” she admits, her hands moving on their own accord to touch him, pull him back to her.

It is madness, she thinks. Since he bites her that night, she’s been yearning for his touch so much that she thought she was sick.

 

“ You knew,” he says. “ And you are not afraid,” he adds accusingly.

 

“ Jon, I can feel everyone's emotions and even alter them if I want to. Do you think a secret like yours could scare me?”

 

“You saw that thing. You saw what I can do with fire and the blood...you have to be a little bit afraid Sansa,” he says and sits up.

 

“ Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He stares at her for a long moment, his eyes flickering on her face as if he was seeking for a secret message.

 

“ No. I don't want you to fear me...I want…”

 

“ What do you want Jon?” Sansa sits on her knees in front of him, so close that their noses are touching. She closes her eyes and inhales his breath and tastes the spicy taste of him on her tongue. So familiar. So forbidden and exquisite.

 

“ I want someone to share this with.”

 

“ Father and Maester Luwin. They know.”

It is not meant to be a question.

 

“ Not like you do. Father had been very supportive and he does not resent me for being this way but he doesn't want to deal with this more than necessary. He has never seen me in my dragon form. He wants me to kill the beast.”

 

“ Is that what you want?”

 

“ I want to be a Wolf of Winterfell. But I want the blood as well. It is the prominent part of me.”

 

“ What are you?”

“ I'm afraid that I can't tell you.” he clears his throat as the red mounts on his cheeks. “ I promised to Father that I would never tell.”

She blows out her breath in frustration and sits back down. “Alright, but why are you so secretive now? You took a chunk out of my neck the other night and performed some weird things with fire. Just name it, Jon. I already know that you are not a wolf.”

“I am a wolf. At least half of me is.” he blurts with a bit of anger.

“That's what I keep telling myself too but you are other, just like me. There will never be a Wolf in you.”  
“No, I am most definitely not. That is a heinous word to try to label something you do not understand.”  
Sansa’s eyes narrow fractionally at the ire in his voice. “And it annoys you.”

Jon’s frown vanishes and a chuckle escapes his lips. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Well, I’m sorry. But if you’re only half wolf then what else are you?”

“ You won't give up, will you?” he chuckles and Sansa feels a warm feeling zigzagging down her spine.

“I am Jon the last dragon shape-shifter of House Targaryen, Heir Apparent to the Iron Throne that will never be mine and son of the deceased crown prince of Dragonstone.”

“Say what?”

“I am Jon the last...”

“ I heard you, but what is the Dah--Dah…”

“Dragon Shape-shifters.”

“Yes, the dragon and what’s the throne of Dragonstone and…crown prince of… who died?”

“Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone”

“Right. that man”

“It is a rather lengthy tale.”

“ So your mother was a Targaryen? “

The corner of Jon’s mouth moves up in a humorous smirk. “For someone who has just been robbed of all they knew, you are remarkably calm.”

“It is what it is,” she says, refusing to give in to the panic that lurks in the dark recesses of her mind. “So, you were saying?”

“ I'm a Targaryen but my mother was a Wolf of Winterfell.”

 

Sansa shakes her head at that. “ Your mother has to be the dragon since Father is the wolf in you,” she explains slowly.

“ Rhaegar Targaryen had a son with Lyanna Stark and that's me.”

“ You are father's son. You have to be. He brought you here. He dishonoured mother and kept you in her presence for years, you have to mean a lot to him. You have to be his blood.”

“ I'm his blood. And I wish I was nothing but a Snow of Winterfell. But I'm more than that whether I like it or not. As for your mother…”

 

“ Does she know? How could he lie to her this way and put her through all that?”

She is panicking, her mind racing back to the pang of pain she always syphons from her mother every time Jon was near.  
Sansa has resented Jon for making her mother suffer in that fashion. And now it turns out it wasn't even worth it. Father has lied to everyone to protect him.

 

“Sansa listen to me.” Jon’s hands grip her shoulders. “ Your mother knows everything.”

Sansa blinks twice, failing to understand his words. “What?”

“She knows. Father told her the day after the incendia. She knows.”

 

“ But…” Sansa can’t understand. Even this morning she felt her mother's mood darkening when Arya mentioned Jon’s name in front of her.

“ Why she still treats me the same? I guess now she has a reason to fear me. Being the bastard of the deceased Targaryen Prince is more dangerous to her children.”

 

“ Oh...it shouldn't be that way.” she says at last and lets him pull her to him and they lie on the fur carpet.

“ What is this place?”

“ It was Lady Lyarra Stark’s old solar. No one ever comes here. I thought we could use it.”  
His finger traces a circle on her cheek, she closes her eyes willing herself to calm despite the confusion raging within her.

Jon isn’t her brother after all. Not father's son.  
Not a Snow but a Targaryen. They are cousins…

“ I thought you already figured out what I was when I got your books.”

She frowns.” I remember how much you liked those tales when we were younger...I don't know I thought I could use them to bring you here.”

“ And what a beautiful way to lure someone!” he says with an airy tone.  
She smiles and presses her lips against his hand. Failing to understand why this sudden intimacy just feels right.

“ Tell me more about you. Why do you need blood?”

Jon makes himself comfortable, lying on his side, propped up on one arm. “It is difficult to know where to begin.”

“How about what exactly the Dragon Shape-shifters are and your abilities?”

Jon speaks of his lessons with Maester Luwin and what father has told him about his gift.  
The Valyrians were gifted with the powers of mind-reading including varying degrees of mind control that they used to control their dragons.  
Also, they could move objects with their will. Along with that came the ability to physically transform or shapeshift.

The Targaryens descendants of Aegon The Conqueror also developed the ability to shape-shift and their mind-reading abilities were strong, as strong as that of the Valyrians. They did not possess telekinetic powers but were capable of moving at incredible speed.

Jon admits with a sad smile that his mind-control abilities weren't greatly enhanced.  
According to Maester Luwin, his powers of mind-reading far exceed those of the other Targaryen bastards, but he cannot hear people's thoughts per se. Just anticipate them. He can’t completely shape-shift but can move at incredible speeds.

 

“ And it only works in the training yard. I can almost see my opponent's moves before he executes them. It's more about people's actions than their emotions or thoughts...it's a queer thing that doesn't work all the time. And I need blood to sustain that part of my skull.”

When, hours later, he pauses, she stares at him in amazement and disbelief.  
“This is…a little unbelievable. If you really are what you said you are, then why are you hiding it?”

“ For the same reason why Father and Lady Catelyn kept your gift a secret from everyone.”

She nods. They are from other species amongst a pack of wolves.

“ Jon? You are like the true knights from the songs with so many secrets. Who would have thought the Bastard of Winterfell could have so many secrets?” she muses with a smile, her fingers playing with his dark curls.

Jon winces at her words, clearly dissatisfied by her musings.

“ You are trying to paint this situation as something it isn't. There is a darker side to this.” he pouts and pushes her hands away.

She cups his face in retaliation.

“ You are gifted. Just like I am. It might be unfortunate to not be a member of the pack but we must cherish what we are nonetheless. It's not that bad…” she paused and bit her lower lip, remembering their moment in the dark cell the other night. He’d brought her so much bliss. “ You can do incredible things with that gift of yours. I for one, do not think it's evil if it can make someone feel so…”

 

“ So now we come to it.”

“It?”  
Sansa can feel the drastic change in his emotions. Is he warming up with...lust?

“The reason you’ve sought me. The reason this encounter have been so…anticlimactic. The reason we are facing one another now. You want something from me.”

Sansa’s first reaction is to lie and deny it, but she suppresses it and meets his eyes, locking with them and holding his gaze despite the near staggering force that hit hers, making her body burn, her heart race and her cunny grow moist with desire.

“Yes, I do.”

 

Jon’s smile is knowing. Knowing enough that heat rose to her face. She refuses, however, to look away. What is the point? He knows as well as she that the tension between them was potent. Denying it would be pointless.

“Then ask, Sansa. What it is you want from me?”

“Answers.”

“Words?” He chuckles.

“I need answers.” She grimaces at the need that creeps into her voice, wanting to show no vulnerability to him.

“And what of my answers?” He reaches down to place one finger beneath her chin and tilts her head a bit more.

“Don’t do this,” she whispers before she can stop herself, and then hates herself for the weakness.

“Don’t do this?” His finger traces down her throat slowly, sensually. “Or this?” His words register in her mind a moment before he lowers his head and kisses her neck at the same spot where he bit her the other night.

She would not have been able to summon anger or indignation at his bold move if the kiss had been brutal or demanding. That she could have accepted, relished and later dismissed as a momentary insanity. But such is not the case. His kiss is one of tenderness. His lips brush her skin, the touch as light as the wings of a dragonfly. Ever so slowly his lips caress, the pressure never increasing as his tongue snakes out to trace the fresh scars.

“ I need you to stay out of my head. No more syphoning of my feelings. That's intrusive and wrong.” he murmurs against her skin.

“ Can't...you are the worst out of everyone else. Your emotions always so loud and foggy...the worst.” she breathes while her gripped his silky hair to pull him away but pressed him against her instead.  
Jon’s breathing becomes loud in her ears as if he is racing and trying to control himself.

 

“ I don't want you to control my emotions.”

 

“Never managed to do it. If I could, I would have plastered a smile on your face from time to time.”

 

“ I can smile you know.” he nips her skin tentatively and she gasps, her face turning to his face to breathe him in.

And before she can take another breath his fangs are inside her.  
Sansa screams as the pain rushes through her and brings in the euphoria of the other night. She stretches her legs open underneath him and welcomes the sweet feelings that bring tears to her eyes.  
Her peak is brutal and overwhelming.  
Luckily, Jon lets go of her before she looses herself in the feelings and faints.

 

“ Was it painful? “ He asks, his eyes searching hers, his face full of concern.

She cannot talk for awhile until her legs cease trembling and she can feel her toes again.

 

“ It wasn't that bad!” she says with a smile and he smiles right back, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of his hands.  
They both know then that everything has changed.

 

*********

 

 

She comes to him every night, nestling into his arms and asking him to bite her.  
He does. Every morning he wakes up with fear of his eyes turning violet for taking human blood and he spends the day beating himself up for his base actions.

Yet every night there is a new book under his door then he becomes Jaehaerys Targaryen again and he goes to kiss his Queen Alysanne.

There is not a single inch of skin on Sansa’s neck, wrists, shoulders and even the inside of her thighs that hasn't been kissed and bitten by him.

After a moon’s turn of their little clandestine encounters, Jon finally discovers the reason why Sansa has been coming to him.  
He always focused on his own bliss while taking her blood and never cared about her state during the act so he always missed it.  
That night he is taking blood from her inner thigh when he sees her jerking and sees wetness pool down her thigh, mixing with the blood from her wound. She is shaking the same way he does every time he explores his shaft in the dead of the night ( mostly after their meetings).  
It dawns on him then that Sansa hasn't been truthful to him once again. She did not offer him her blood out of goodwill nor because of the constant need to help as an Empath. No, she came to him because he made her feel good.

From there Jon takes some liberties during their sessions of blood sharing. He pauses in the middle of sucking on her to touch her between her legs, caress her wetness and make her gasp and call his name.  
Jon has figured out after awhile that watching Sansa come apart was more potent than taking her blood ( which is the most exquisite thing to happen to him as a dragon shape-shifter.)

There are nights when she touches him as well, stroking his shaft and watching him spend in her hand.

And there are the nights when they do none of that. They just hold each other and watch the moon from the windows of the forgotten solar.  
He finds more bliss in those moments of silence than anything else he’s ever experienced before.

He gets to know her better as well during those moments. Her fears and how difficult it is for her to hold on to her gift. How much she wants to make her parents proud.  
Sansa still carries her childhood dreams of princes and chivalry with her.

  
But there is no other way for her to marry without a mate and she is afraid that there will never be someone for her.  
Jon almost admits to her that he’s bound himself to her but he doesn't. He is too afraid to lose his best friend.  
Because that's what she is to him and so much more.

He spends his time watching her when she isn’t looking and even when she is watching him.  
How did he live all those years with her without noticing the brightness in her blue eyes?  
And the way she carries herself? So tall and graceful. He likes how dutiful she is and how good she is with her tasks. Even when she follows her mother around the castle and takes care of things he deems boring, he likes watching her from afar.

  
Sansa isn’t always nice to people she deems different from her. Jon does not always like the way she treats Arya thus the way her friends treat their sister.  
He’s tried many times to make her see reason but that only resulted in too heated fights between them.  
Which compel them to stop meeting in secrets for a few days. But then she comes to him again begging him to resume their friendship. And Jon finds that he can’t refuse her a thing.

Every time she is in the room he wants to go next to her, touch her and curl himself around her the same way Lady does.

If father suspects, he doesn’t say a word to him but Jon has noticed the sad gleam in his eyes every time he catches him looking at Sansa.

Because of her gift, she is often taken away from Winterfell to heal people or fix some affairs for Father or Lady Catelyn.  
He misses his best friend when she goes away, sometimes for days, misses her so much it makes his belly ache, but she always comes back. And when she does she tells him tales of her journey and the many people she’s helped.  
She embraces him, lets him pleasure her, takes her blood and allows him to lie in her bed until sunrise.

He’s still got Arya and Robb to turn to when needed and Father and Maester Luwin take care of him, but Sansa seems galaxies bigger. When she is in the room she takes up all the space: her presence, her hands, her eyes, her lips, all of her. Every touch from her hands or smiles from her lips is an acknowledgement of his existence. Her blood in his mouth feels like grace.  
And her will, especially her will, which has such a presence in the Great Keep that Jon can feel it pinning him down, even when she isn’t there. He is unequivocally her belonging. And he doesn’t mind.

 

But then Sansa isn’t there for longer periods than usual. And when she comes back, she doesn’t come to him. He’s sent book after book and wait for her in their safe space but there is no answer from her.  
She is always in meetings with Lady Catelyn, or alone with Septa Mordane. Strangers come to Winterfell to see her, and she doesn’t come to tell him about them.  
She hardly glances at him in the Great Hall during supper, or when she strides through the yard looking for Lady.

  
Jon doesn’t even get to watch her from afar since she makes sure to stay clear from his path. Although he continues to live his life like before between studies and quality time spent with Arya, Robb and Bran - and the bloodlust is long satiated with no tortures and torments. Jon feels as if he is dying for her touch. He is adrift, no point to him.

The situation reaches a crescendo one morning when he is in the stables with Blackfoot. He sensed her presence.  
His world turns over.  
As if at a great distance he hears her intakes of breath and feels his name on her lips.

“ Could you perhaps tell me where Jon Snow is?”  
He hears her asking.

“ Of course my Lady, he is in the last stable on your right.”

Jon feels sweat on his forehead and his hands shaking while every single fiber of his being concentrating on her approaching steps.

Jon feels a pang knife through his chest every time he hears her heartbeat. She is afraid.  
He feels abandoned. No matter how abject he is because of his nature, there is meaning to his existence when she is with him. And now he’s lost that. He chose her as his mate but she rejected him. He resists the urge to cry out of self-pity.

“ Jon? It's Sansa.” he hears her behind him.  
Near way too close.

“ What do you want?” His voice is harsh and he can bet that the look on his face isn't any better for her eyes widened in shock.

 

“ I..I had to stay away. I had to.” She says softly, fidgeting her fingers her eyes fighting unshed tears.  
Jon finds that he doesn’t care for her pain.  
She’s been torturing him for weeks now.

“ Good. You should go back to doing just that.” he shrugs and his heart sinks when he sees anger flashing in her eyes.

 

“ Mother was suspecting something. Father too for that matter and Septa Mordane was told to follow me around every moment.”

Jon’s feels relief taking hold on his being.  
No, she isn’t staying away because she loathes him. She is protecting him and protecting herself.

 

“ My maidservant Raissa, she told Mother of the scars and the bites she found on my body and Mother had been asking me questions since then. I only managed to convince her to not ask Maester Luwin to look to it because then we would have been demasked.”

Jon nods, feeling suddenly stupid for being so hard on her and himself.

“ Jon, do you know how hard it was for me to stay away from you? I could feel you seeking me and it was taking every ounce of the strength I possess to keep a barrier raised against your questing mind.”

“ Aye, what a good Empath you make.”

 

“ I missed you.”

 

“ Where were you?” he asks his voice still harsh somehow even though his pain was already eased.

Sansa bit her lower lip. “ I went to the Vale with Mother.”

 

“ Is that all you did?” he asks again, moving away from her when she approaches Blackfoot.

 

“ In the Vale, there is a man, his grandmother was an Empath like me. His name is Harrold Hardying and he is high-born.”

 

Jon feels his body stiffening. “ Sansa you cannot…”

You cannot go to him. You are mine. I chose you with fire and blood. My mate whether the old Gods and Winterfell disagreed.

 

“ Father didn't want me to go but Mother had convinced him that it would be good for me to marry a Lord who happens to share my gift.”

Sansa caresses Blackfoot and seems lost in her thoughts as Jon waits for her to end his life.

 

“But it didn't work out. The gift wasn't even strong in him and I felt nothing when we stood in front of the Heart Tree. I’m not to be his.”

 

“ Sansa...I’m sorry.” he isn't. Actually, he is fighting the need to scream his joy. But he knows how much this particular topic saddened Sansa.

 

“ Don't be,” she says suddenly with a smile in her voice. “ I sabotaged the ceremonial.”

 

“ What do you mean?”

 

“ The Heart Tree did find him compatible for me but I blocked his emotions before he could feel it.” she says in between giggles.

 

“ Sansa…” He doesn't know what to say.

 

“ Jon I do not want to marry him. I know what I did was wrong. What would father say if he knew that I was no longer pure of spirit? I was mortified. I shouldn't have...I should”

Jon uses his speed for the first time and crushes her body against his.  
He pulls her off the floor and twirls her around with speed and force.  
He is so delighted that he wants to cry.

Mine! Mine! He chants.  
He puts her down and cups her face in his hands, his eyes flickering all over face.

 

“ Oh! You mustn't do that again. Now I'm dizzy and I feel like vomiting and oh…” she stares at his lips, giving Jon the permission he needs.

He reaches down to kiss her lips but she moves her face to the side.

 

“ No kissing.” she shook her head. “You mustn't. It's too intimate. I’ve given so much of myself to you already. I must keep this for my mate.”

 

Seized by an uncharacteristic zeal, he shrugs.  
“ I’ve had my hand on your cunny, slipped my fingers in you and watched you peak many times and your blood is sustaining me, but kissing is intimate?”

 

Her face turns red and she shoots him with a deathly glare.

“ You are just saying that to shock me. You know how much rudeness make me uncomfortable.”  
She crinkles her nose in disgust and Jon can’t help but laugh.  
He kisses the tip of her nose, her cheeks and moves her face to the side to get better access to her neck. Sansa gasps and breathes his name in that way that only she could do.  
He has his lips on her skin when a sudden noise on the other side of the stables catches his attention.

  
He lets go of Sansa's body in hurry and jumps away from her just as Arya steps onto the storage. She sees him first and begins walking toward him.

  
“There you are, Jon.” She stops inside of the stooge then looks at Sansa suspiciously.

“ What are you two doing?” she asks, her eyes moving from Sansa to him.

“ Nothing! We are just standing here,” he says.

“ Just standing?”

He laughs brittly, and Sansa gives an inward sigh. She is right, he is horrible at subterfuge.

“ I wanted to go on a ride and I asked Jon to prepare a horse for me.”

Arya rolls her eyes then runs to him.

“ Jon you have to help me. You have to tell Father that I do not wish to mate.”

 

“ What? What happened?”

“ There is a stupid lad in the Great Hall right now, he pretends to be my mate even worse, Father wants me to marry him. We have to stop it.”

He hears Sansa shrieking in delight.

“ Oh, Arya! It's unbelievable. You found your mate! How did it happen?”

Arya gives her a dark glare then sniffs her tears back. Her face taking on a faraway expression, she begins casually, “ I’ve noticed that a big Stag has been following me in the Wolfwood since my first transformation and I grew tired of it. I’m the Wolf, I'm supposed to be the predator so I started hunting it. I had its collar in my hands, about to twist its head from its body.”

“Oh, Arya! That sounds like the beginning of a great love story.” Sansa shrieks in delight.

Arya ignores her. “Yet something stayed me. I released it but studied it in the following day trying to discover what had made me hesitate. In time, I realised that it was not just a stupid Stag. It was a shape-shifter. That’s when the Heart Tree told me that he was my mate. I threatened him and told him to leave me alone but he followed me here. Now, Father wants a wedding and he already sent missives to the King.”

“ How romantic! Such a beautiful tale of mating!” Sansa says, already on the verge of tears and genuinely moved by the tale.

 

Jon frowns at her antic and pulls Arya to him.

 

“ Who is the lad?”

“ His name is Edric Storm.”

 

“ The King's bastard? “ Sansa gasps. “ Then this will be a royal wedding? I have to talk to mother. We have to prepare for the wedding party. I shall be given the honour to make your wedding gown. Oh, Arya, you will be the most beautiful bride...and…”

 

“ Just shut up Sansa. Don't make it about you!”

 

“ I wasn't!”

 

“ What part of I do not want to marry him do you not understand? “

 

“ But you mustn't! You should marry him. He is King's blood and you may get to live with him at Storm’s End and you will become a princess...this is very important Arya.”

 

“Jon please tell her that I want none of that.”

 

“ Why would not?” Sansa snaps.

 

Maybe for the same reason, you tricked your way out of a marriage to that Lordling in the Vale.  
Jon thinks but he doesn’t want to upset Sansa and aggravate the situation.

 

“ Arya...do you feel nothing for him? Are you certain the Heart Tree is wrong about this union? You know what happens to people who never find their mates or lose them. They are damned to feel incomplete until their dying breath. Do you want that?” he asks

 

“ I do feel things for him. He makes me feel strong and reminds me of the happiest time of my life. Strangely, every time I see him my insides feels weird and I feel weak in the knees and I feel moist between my legs.” she admits.

 

Jon isn’t certain he wanted to know about that last part.

“ Arya, everything will be alright. Let's go talk to Father,” he says and hurries her out of the stable not without a quick glance at Sansa.  
She gives him a quick smile and mouths ‘ Later?’

He nods. They have things to talk about and a lot more to do.

 

**********

 

 

She's been waiting for him in the cell since the full Moon rose in the sky calling the wolves of Winterfell to her.  
It is one of those nights that Jon needs her the most. However, she cannot find him in anywhere.  Sansa’s first reaction is to wait for him but she can feel anxiety gusting her insides.  
She wonders if something has happened to him after the feast. He can’t be gone without telling. She knows that her mother has not acted on her anger yet. The thought prompts Sansa to think of a plan for her and Jon. She will not let anyone separate her from him.

 

The wait becomes insufferable until she fell asleep.

She is awoken moments later by a hand on her shoulder.  
Her eyes find his and relief floods through her.

 

“ Jon. Where have you been?” Sansa says a that the same moment she senses that there is something different about him.

He smells like snow and grass, his hands are bloodied and his body cold. Something was amiss.

 

“ Sansa, there is something that I need to tell you,” he says and before she can breathe he grabs her body and crushes his lips on her mouth  
Sansa is too shocked to return his kiss as the nature of the change in him becomes apparent.  
Jon, her Jon smelled like Wolf. No his essence is one of a wolf now. No matter how she concentrates, she cannot sense the dragon anymore.  
And it is frightening. He couldn't be a wolf. Not now. Not ever.

 

“ It happened. Sansa, I did it. I let the wolf take control. I was in my room preparing to come hide here when I felt the moon calling me.” he laughs and grazes hot kisses on her face.  
Sansa feels like she is about to vomit. She pushes him away from her with all her strength.

 

He falls on his back, his head hitting the cold stone with a startling sound.

“ What's wrong with you?” he howls, already on his feet, his hand stretching to grab her.  
Sansa steps away from him, her body shaking.

 

“What did you do? Why did you let it happen?”

 

“ I did nothing wrong. I became what I was always meant to be. Shouldn't you-you be happy for me? How can you act like this when you know how much I despised what I was before? This means I'm healed. I will no longer drink human blood or blood at all and find pleasure in it. This is a blessing.”

 

“Can't you see what you did? You became like them. I’m all alone now. How could you take away the only thing that tied us to each other?”

 

Jon closes his eyes and advanced on her. “ This is not about you Sansa. I’ve wanted to feel this way for a very long time. Do not make something that was good to me bad. I refuse to let you ruin this.”

 

She stares at Jon’s angry, contorted face. Sansa holds his gaze for a moment, and she shudders to see the confusion in his eyes.  
He does not understand what this means for her. For them.

 

“ In a moon turn, someone will come here looking for you. You would find your mate and you would forget everything that existed before her. You would be so blissfully content that you would feel complete for the first time. And you would leave me to feel incomplete forever.”

 

“ Sansa!” he calls her name but she can hear him no more. She thinks back to the memories they shared in this together. How much she hoped that it had to be a sign from the Gods, a gift to the unfortunate beings born under a lonely star. Since there was no one else like him in the world, maybe, she thought, maybe they could be together and fill what was missing.

“ Sansa listen to me. I won't find a mate who's not you. You are my mate because I’ve decided so. Do you understand? There is another way to binding with someone. The Old Gods Is not the only way.”

 

Sansa shakes her head, he is making no sense. Only the Gods have the power to bind two souls together. Jon is delusional and maybe mad with unnatural love as she is.

 

“ You will find your mate. It will happen.” she cries out.

 

“ I said I won't. And even if it happens, I would refuse her. No one could make me feel the way you do.”

 

“ You’re so wrong Jon. No one can defy the power of a bonding decided by the Gods. I tried it at the Vale and it made me physically and emotionally ill. What you were feeling when I was away was the broken bond retaliating.”

 

“ You don't know that. You refused that man, I can do the same you would help me.”

 

“ No. You don't understand, the bond is vicious and visceral. If you refuse to submit and try to break it, it will break you or in this instance break what we have. It will make you suffer so much that you would end up resenting me for bestowing misery on you.”

 

“ Sansa...I want you to stop worrying about this. You are not to belong to someone else. Listen to me. I'm yours and you are mine. You have to be.”

 

“ I don't want you anymore. I'm setting you free now. This is over…it was just a game anyway. You meant nothing to me” she cries out, eyes closed. She hopes Ned them tentatively when she feel that Jon’s hold on her disappears.

 

Jon’s face blanches. “Is that how you see me?” he whispers. “Was it only a lusty game for you?”

She spins away. “It is truer than you think.”

 

Suddenly she turns and races up the steps to the maid's quarters, nearly tripping over the hem of her garment. She takes off running through the maze of corridors, heading for her bedchamber. “Leave me alone Jon Snow,” she calls back. “These meetings are at an end.”

“Sansa!” Jon’s cry spurs her on, her feet in their thin slippers stumbling on the small futures on her path. Her chest feels tight --fear, anger, desolation and an aching loneliness nearly driving her to her knees.

  
She stumbles into a table, scratching her arm, and then rights herself and keeps going. Ahead she can see the door of the nursery. Since her little brother is resting with her mother tonight, she can hide in there. She ducks down the corridor, fleeing Jon and the temptation he presents. She can hear his feet pounding on the corridor behind her and wants nothing more than to fling herself into his arms. But she can't. She can’t see him again.

She ducks down the corridor, fleeing Jon and the temptation he presents. She can hear his feet pounding on the corridor behind her and wants nothing more than to fling herself into his arms. But she can't. She can’t see him again.  
When she reaches the nursery, she runs inside and stops, spinning around in indecision. What should she do now? Her predicament so closely resembles her life at the moment she collapses onto the floor by the wall in turmoil.

  
She lies with her cheek on the cool marble of the floor, her sides heaving from her frantic flight. She has arrived at her destination, just as she has arrived at her age of ten-and-seven. And there is nothing here. No rescue, no relief -- nothing but silence, and the unrelieved white of the marble walls and floor and ceiling. No colour, no desire, no friend to ease her loneliness. She will be locked in this colourless, empty world forever, locked in her life as she knows it. She hears him before he enters --- his feet hit the marble floor, sounding like a death knell to all she knows -- the life she bemoaned. But it is a safe life, a secure life.

She will be locked in this colourless, empty world forever, locked in her life as she knows it.

She hears him before he enters --- his feet hit the marble floor, sounding like a death knell to all she knows -- the life she bemoaned. But it is a safe life, a secure life.

When he comes close to her she rises wearily, dragging herself from where she lay. She isn’t prepared for the anger on his face.

“You little fool,” he snarls, stalking over and grabbing her arm. “You could have hurt yourself. What were you thinking to run from me like that? And what did you mean it is truer than I think? Are you lying to me, Sansa? Was it all a bloody game to you?”

***  
Jon is so outraged at her duplicity he is shaking with it. He fears what he might do to her. How dare she pretend a bashful innocence she has no right to claim? All that time he thought he wasn't worthy of her when she was playing with him.

He wants to howl in frustration. The feeling is primeval and beastly and he never felt it before, but he embraces it. His anger should have given him pause but he is beyond rational thought now.

“ Speak now! How dare you let me break my promise to Father, take your blood...human blood when you weren't honest with me? How dare you?”

Her eyes are wide with fear, and something else. Something that makes the Dragon in him stretch and digs its claws into his cock, making him grit his teeth against the need to sheathe it in her to soothe the ache.

“Is this what it takes, Sansa? Do I have to be rough with you? Is that what you like, what you desire?”

He shoves her back against the cool marble wall, spinning her around. Her hands fly up to brace herself as her front pressed into the marble. He hears her gasp, feels her struggle and his vision dims for a moment, he is so aroused by it all --- aroused by the chase, the capture, her struggles and the knowledge that she will surrender to him.

He hears her gasp, feels her struggle and his vision dims for a moment, he is so aroused by it all --- aroused by the chase, the capture, her struggles and the knowledge that she will surrender to him.  
He will take here and she will not deny him again. He will mark her as his, and his mark will supersede all previous claims. He yanks her skirts up, heedless of the ripping sound something makes as he tears at them. Sansa whimpers and Jon pressed up against her, nothing between his cock and her arse but his tight breeches and her thin drawers. The contact makes him shudder and Sansa reacts as well, with a moan and a shiver -- of desire, not fear. He takes a moment to calm down. He is out of control, wild, wilder than he’s ever been before. What has she done to him? He becomes aware of his ragged breathing and rapid pulse. He forces his hands to gentle, to caress and ask rather than grasp and take. He runs them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her arse. He wants to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Gods! He needs to get more control. His hands tremble with the effort, but he makes them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between ass and thighs.

He is out of control, wild, wilder than he’s ever been before. What has she done to him? He becomes aware of his ragged breathing and rapid pulse. He forces his hands to gentle, to caress and ask rather than grasp and take. He runs them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her arse. He wants to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Gods! He needs to get more control. His hands tremble with the effort, but he makes them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between ass and thighs.

He wants to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Gods! He needs to get more control. His hands tremble with the effort, but he makes them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between ass and thighs.

Sansa whimpers and Jon pressed up against her, nothing between his cock and her arse but his tight breeches and her thin smallclothes. The contact makes him shudder and Sansa reacts as well, with a moan and a shiver -- of desire, not fear. He takes a moment to calm down. He is out of control, wild, wilder than he’s ever been before. What has she done to him? He becomes aware of his ragged breathing and rapid pulse. He forces his hands to gentle, to caress and ask rather than grasp and take. He runs them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her arse. He wants to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Gods! He needs to get more control. His hands tremble with the effort, but he makes them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between ass and thighs.

He runs them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her arse. He wants to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Gods! He needs to get more control. His hands tremble with the effort, but he makes them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between ass and thighs.

“ I lied.” she moans. “ Not everything was a game.”

 

“ What was true?”

 

“ I valued your friendship. Up until that night in the crypt, I was so lonely. I knew too much of everyone's feelings about me and it made me self - conscious and so I started altering them to please myself. When someone thought little of me, I could make them feel differently because I wanted to. I felt powerful and I wanted everyone in Winterfell to adore me. Yet I couldn't trust my own feelings...and I couldn't share it with anyone. I cannot do that with you. Everything you feel for me is inherently yours and...”

 

“ What else?”

 

“ When you bite me you release something of you in me. It makes me tense and restless and sweats with heat at night. It makes me sleep as well. Dream my own dreams. I no longer float in other people's dreams.”

 

“ So it was self - serving? You were using me to get sleep.” he whispers against her ear and bit It, she wiggles against him.

 

“ No.” she shakes her her head. “ You are my equal in every way. By being imperfect you became perfect to me. You complete me, you make me feel strong and doubt myself less. You are good to me...good for me.”

 

“ I always wish to be with you. Hold your hand when you walk in the Glass Garden. Shares your laughter with you without fear,” he admits, his throat tight and heavy with unshed tears.

“ I know. I feel the same.” she turns her face to the side to look at him but he pins it back in place. He is still too angry with her to let her blue eyes spirit him away.

“ When I was standing with Harold Hardying before the Heart Tree, I imagined it to be you and my heart ached when I realised that it would never be. That's why I broke the bond with him. If I can't be with you then, I would be with no one.” she murmurs. “ Why can't you be the one the Gods chose for me? How is it fair to make me feel this way then give you to someone else?”

 

“ Sansa...you are my mate.”

 

“ Not in the way of the Old Gods.”

 

“ It doesn't matter...I love you..it's enough for me.”

“ Jon...I love you too. Mayhaps we could be mates here. Just this night and never again.”

 

“Let me touch you, Sansa,” he murmurs into her hair. She turns her head so that his lips graze her temple and she sighs at the contact. “Let me touch you, love you. I only want to love you, Sansa.”  
She sobs. “Jon,” she cries softly, “Jon.” But he knows what she means by it. He knows it’s yes, yes to all that they desire. Here, in this little marble bedchamber, far away wherein they were both nursed as children of Winterfell. Back then they were no Empath, no Dragon. No Stark, no Snow. Just children.

 

***

Sansa can’t speak for the lust choking her. It has her by the throat and she can’t breathe much less talk. His hands on her, rough and arousing at first, are now gentle and oh so much more devastating. She can feel his hardness pressing against her bottom, and the contact makes her tense until she is so sensitive she can feel the air move against her skin like a caress. The cool marble against her breasts soothes her while his hands, so hot, gently remove her smallclothes. He does it slowly, reaching around her to untie them. When they are loose, he slips his hands inside, onto her hips, and pushes them down. His palms run down her hips to her thighs as the garment slides down her legs.

The cool marble against her breasts soothes her while his hands, so hot, gently remove her smallclothes.

He does it slowly, reaching around her to untie them. When they are loose, he slips his hands inside, onto her hips, and pushes them down. His palms run down her hips to her thighs as the garment slides down her legs.

  
“Step out of them, Sansa,” he orders, his voice soft but insistent. She obeys, and he kicks them away.  
He steps back, keeping his hands on her hips. She feels his gaze on her naked backside like a brand.

“Kiss me, Sansa please,” he begs so sweetly, so full of passion and surrenders that kissing him becomes the most important thing in the world. He leans down and the heat of his breath against her lips sends a shock through her, lodging, as these things often did, in her cunny. He smells so good.

She meant the kiss to be as sweet as his plea, but the hunger burns out of control and she falls into his mouth, devouring him.  
Jon tastes as sweet as he smells, but his kiss more than lives up to the carnal invitation she presents.

She takes his mouth, his thrusting tongue and biting teeth, and gives them back to him, as rough and desperate as he is. She hears herself moan against his lips as she sucks his upper lip into her mouth and bites it, just shy of drawing blood. He slides one finger then two deep into her cunny as her reward and she sobs, letting go of his lip and her inhibitions.

“Yes, Jon, Gods, please don't stop” Sansa begs in a husky voice, not caring if she sounds wanton and desperate. She is both those things.

She dreamed of him like this so many times when she was away, and to finally have him touching her is heaven. She eases down on his fingers, loving the feel of them inside her, loving her breasts bare to the open air in the nursery, her nipples rubbing on his bare chest. She loves watching his fingers moving in and out of her, loves the wet sound of each thrust of those fingers inside her. Loves especially the enthralled look on his face as he watches her pleasure written on hers.

“Sansa, I love you so much. I want to see you come apart on my hand, Do it, Sansa.” Jon’s demands are spoken harshly, in a voice ragged with desire and she can do nothing but obey him. Her head falls back hard against the marble, but the pain does nothing to lessen the pleasure as she reaches her peak for him, loud and long.

Her sobs fill the nursery, his name falling from her lips again and again as he curls his fingers inside her and rubs her cunny roughly, deliciously so. After her peak he continues to move his fingers, her cunny so wet she could feel his hand drenched in her as it rubs between her thighs.

His thumb replaces his palm against the wavering bud in her centre and begins circling, making Sansa cry out at the extreme sensitivity there.  
He sucks and bites at her nipple with a rumble of delight as if it were a delicious treat, and Sansa groans as she scoots closer to him.

Her legs widen as she tries to press her mound against Jon --- any part of him as long as she can ease the ache there.  
She growls in frustration, thrusting against air. Jon pulls away from her nipple and languorously licked around it in widening circles, conscientiously making sure to leave no morsel of skin untasted.

Sansa cries out again, at the marvellous sensation of his mouth and tongue on her, but also in increasing agitation over her inability to press her aching cunny against something hard, hot, and Jon.

“Hmmm,” Jon sighs against her breast, causing tingles to chase down her spine. “Is there something wrong, my love?” His tone is innocent, but Sansa knows very well that he is aware of her frustration and its cause.

  
“Jon, please, we have to be fast...They will...will be back in the morning.” she pleads, and his hands lightly grasp her ankles, running up her lower legs just a few inches before trailing back down to her ankles.

 

Jon goes to his knees between her legs, spreading them wide.  
He is struck speechless at the sight of her cunt. It is covered in dark red, tight, wet curls, the lips bright pink and swollen, the same pink as her distended nipples.  
His cock jumps at the sight.

All those nights in the solar together, he’s never been able to see what he was touching, until now.  
The soft inner lips are ruffled, like a lady’s gown. How like Sansa to have a ladylike cunt. He has to taste her, has to feel those ruffles on his tongue.

With Sansa breathlessly asking him what he is doing, trying desperately to pull him up to her, Jon leans in and runs his tongue along the petal soft lips. Sansa’s cry is a muffled scream and she throws her head back against the wall with a loud crack.

  
Jon pulls his head back sharply to look at her in concern. “Gods, Sansa, are you alright?”

“Oh Jon,” Sansa moans, rubbing the back of her head. “Next time you plan to do something like that, please give me a little warning.”

 

Jon laughs. “Duly noted. Sansa I’m going to lick you here and kiss all over you, with my tongue and teeth until you beg me to stop. Is that alright?”

“ I think I’d like it with no warning after all.” they laugh together, her laughter ends on a moan. He didn’t wait for her permission but has moved his mouth back to her. God! She tastes so perfect, so wonderful.  
He grabs her arse in his palms, squeezing as he lifts her higher, onto his mouth, his tongue. He finds her nub and sucks it, loves it, nibbles it, and Sansa is reduced to helpless sobs. He loves it, loves her complete surrender to the moment, to him. Without warning, she comes.

Her sobs become a scream, and she presses him hard against her. When he can’t take it anymore, he moves and pulls his breeches down.  
Sansa’s trembling hand moves to touch him but he pushes her hand away. She is right, they have to be fast.  
He pulls her to him and kisses her lips, he slides her on the floor and positions himself between her legs.

Their gazes lock for a moment, he begs for her permission one more time. Even then when he is trembling with desire, if she was to tell him no, he would stop.

But she nods and pulls him in for a kiss. She breaks the kiss when he plunges into her. They scream together as he feels something in her give in.  
She screams again, this time in pain.  
“Ah, Gods,” he groans. “I’m so sorry,” he bites out with another buck of his hips. She is so clenched around him he could scarcely move.  
She gasps, her eyes watering from the searing pain.

She knew it would be painful, she was even prepared for it but this is unbearable.  
To her relief, he stops thrusting, though she wonders how he did when she can feel his body shaking all around her, his shaft throbbing within her. Then she feels the pleasure this intimacy is giving him and she decides to hold on to it. She syphons it to ease the pain and urges him to keep going.

 This is impossible. He is too big. She wills her tears back; everything inside her will be ripped and ragged. The pain is deep and sharp, sudden, focused, but where, she cannot tell. she moans, she shakes her head, she squeezes her eyes shut. Again she is misunderstood as he drives further into her. Now, something changes. Her thighs strain apart, her hips arch up to meet his; she is all greed, nothing but a mouth, sucking and salivating.

He shudders, gives a muffled groan which she feels against her neck, and lies still. She feels his skin cooling against hers; she feels like a child who has been offered a sweet, only to have it snatched away as she reaches out to take it. Sansa breathes in deeply, willing her blood to slow, her heart to steady, her legs, which are clasped around Jon’s waist, to relax their grip, to let him go.

  
After a while, he raises himself on one elbow and gives her a searching look.

“What’s wrong?” He waits, but she does not know how to reply so he comes to his own conclusions. “ Are you regretting this already?”

“ No. I have no regret.”

He looks sceptical at that, but all he says is, “What then?” She sees realisation dawn. “I didn’t please you, did I? Well, well. What can I say in my defence? I wanted you so much, you see, have wanted you for so long, and I was overwrought with passion and needs for you …But excuses are not what you want, are they?” He strokes her private hair, prospects again for what it hides.

  
“It doesn’t matter.” Truly, it doesn’t. Because his need has given her a glimpse of what it is to feel complete. She gazes up at his face, at the frown which has scored two lines of uneven length between his brows and the air of hesitancy flickering about his mouth and tells herself that, for this moment if no other, they are made for each other. More than Soulmates. They are best friends, and so much more.

“Don’t lie to me.” He raises his hand from between her legs and licks his fingers. “It will be better next time.”

  
She pushes a tangle of his hair back over his shoulder and, as she touches his damp skin, Sansa has an unearthly, fleeting sense that they are fused, that she can understand. “Really,” she says, “it doesn’t matter.”

  
Apparently satisfied she is telling the truth, he makes himself comfortable once again. Drawing her close, until she is lying with her head on his chest, her ear to his heart, his voice a tremor through the bones of her skull, he says, “I will tell you about the Targaryen’s way of mating, then. And by the time I have done that, we will be ready to make love again. And I will do better next time, I promise.” she wonders if he can feel her smile.

  
When he is done with his story, he is inside her again and keeps his promise to make it good for her.

 

**********

 

They dress clumsily, trying to help one another with shaking hands which they laugh about. His shirt is a rumpled ruin, her hair impossibly tangled, and there is a rip in her gown.

“We smell like what we did,” Sansa says with a sigh as she takes his offered hand and gingerly followed him to the nursery’s door.

Jon leans over and sucks in a heady dose of the scent from Sansa’s neck, making her laugh.  
“You meant we smell like sex? Yes, yes we do,” he replies contentedly.  
They walk in silence for a minute, picking their way over the small beds that used to be theirs.

“I will come to you tonight,” he tells her matter-of-factly.

Sansa stops and looks at him, horrified. “You can’t!” she cries, letting go of his arm. “The servants will talk already, Jon. Please, you can’t. And Mother is already suspecting something.”

  
He gives her a long look and Sansa begins to panic. “You have three days, Sansa, to figure out how we can do this without detection. Just like you always do. But I will be in your bed every night now that I claimed you.”

Sansa bites her cheek in indecision. She wanted this affair, desperately. Jon has shown her a passion last night that she didn’t know existed, not just within her but in the whole world. She craves more of it, more of him. She couldn’t imagine doing those things with anyone but Jon.

She doesn’t even want to contemplate a life without them. But dare she risk it? She feels as if she’s been waiting a lifetime for this. Surely there is some way to be with Jon without everyone knowing. Other people managed it, didn’t they? She has to find a way.

  
“I will tell you tomorrow,” she whispers, making a decision she hopes she won’t regret. “I’ll think about how it can be done. I’ll figure it out, and I’ll tell you tomorrow morning when we meet in the solar. Anticipate a book under your door.”

  
Jon smiles brightly. “ I like the sound of that. I like books so much.”  
Sansa blushes at his words and the fact he could jest after what just happened. Jon laughs. It is a sound she is beginning to crave.

 

 

************

 

They come out of the nursery and start walking down the dark corridor. Sansa feels their emotions before she can see them in the dark. But they are there, a pack of angry wolves ready to pounce.  
Jon sense them too so he unleashes his beast to protect her.  
It happens too fast. In a blink of an eye, they are surrounded by claws, blood and loud growl with Jon’s white wolf crumbling under seven enraged beasts.  
Sansa snaps out of her moment of terror and forces her brain to attack the wolves and pine their will into surrender.

  
She knocks one that she recognises to be Robb’s to the floor, knocks another to the floor, stretching and crunching their will until they can do nothing but obey her.  
Yet another growl comes in behind her and more wolves appear, ready to tear her beloved apart.

  
Sansa fight with their will, pester the wild in them until they surrender. Ten falls yet they are still too many. She falls onto the floor as blood slips from her nostrils, yet she pushes her ability further, willing every soul in Winterfell to obey her. The last thing she remembers is the scream that leaves her mouth when her spirit breaks under the effort before she fall into nothingness.

The last thing she remembers is the scream that leaves her mouth when her spirit breaks under the effort before she falls into nothingness.

 

*************

 

It is in the dark cell under the crypt that his fate is decided for him by the only father he knew.

“ I gave you everything yet you couldn't help but betray me with my own daughter. You lied to the Gods, you lied to your Alpha and soiled my name.”

He had not finished, but his words so stung that Jon can not let an opportunity to retaliate pass. ‘What difference does it make? I’m a Targaryen bastard,’ Jon interrupts swiftly, ‘which you knew all along and hid it. Yet you expected me to suppress what I'm for your honour.’

Father slaps his cheek so hard it brings tears to his eyes, but Jon refuse to let them spill. Maester Luwin startled slightly when Father struck him but manages to keep himself in check.

  
“You are incorrigible,” he says. “But I cannot permit you to further waste my time. You fought members of your own pack and almost killed one. You dishonoured my daughter. I should take your head, that is my duty. By doing this you have denied me the hope to do good by Lyanna and raise her son to be an honourable man.”

“ Father…” he bends his face down, suddenly feeling sorry and miserable for everything he did. He is so sorry for failing his father. But he is not sorry for Sansa. Not at all. He loves her.

 

“ I should deny you what you love the most. Winterfell and Sansa. You are to leave my territory, leave the North, leave Westeros and never come back. “

 

Jon gasps. This is a fate worse than death. Everyone knew what happens to a lone wolf.  
Anyone could kill him out there without the protection of a pack.

Yet his only thoughts are for Sansa. He would never see her again. That alone would kill him.

 

Tears that had gathered on the rims of his eyes are now cascading onto his cheeks. “But…but Sansa loves me! It will hurt her if she can’t see me, and she’s been a good daughter, a perfect daughter. It’s not fair -- you’ll be punishing Sansa for something she didn’t do! It was all my fault”

“How does it feel, Jon?’ Father asks softly. “How does it feel to know you are responsible for hurting the one you love the most? That's what you did to me”

 

Jon looks to the man who meant the world to him -- In that instant, he knows what it is like to feel infinite, irrevocable hatred for one he helplessly loved. He feels the need to hurt Father as he had him.

 

He isn't left outside the gates of Winterfell according to the rules of banishment. A carriage is waiting for him a few miles away from Winterfell.

  
The carriage takes him to White Harbor. From there he is shipped into a fleet to Dorne.  
Upon his arrival, another carriage comes to fetch him and leads him to Starfall.

Jon is welcomed by a Lady of rare beauty. Her skin is kissed by the sun, her ink-colored hair and laughing purple eyes take his breath away.  
She welcomes him with a smile.

 

“ You look so much like him. It's like seeing him again.” she says, her hands cupping his face and her voice cracking with emotions.  
Jon doesn't know who she is but for the first time since the beginning of his exile, he feels at peace. Father didn't give up on him, he sent him away to protect him.

 

“ I'm Ashara of House Dayne. You do not remember me but I carried you in my arms when you were a babe before Ned returned to Winterfell with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a second part to this story obviously, but I already provided a novel length story here so the Victor Hugo in me had to stop. I would add it if you guys want to.  
> Thanks for reading, reviewing. It was an honour to be a part of this project.


	9. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short story is set in the universe of my fic They Lost Their Wolves, sometime after the events of the main story, which is in process. I hope it will make sense to anyone who hasn't read Wolves. Please be warned that there is a fairly graphic sex scene of pegging.
> 
> Many thanks to Sarah Black and Subjunctivemood for reading and commenting. This was a tough one to write and their help was invaluable, and so much appreciated.

The end came on a glorious day as the waters of the great spring Melt surrounded Winterfell in a torrent of a thousand streams that pulsed through the snow and ice like arteries through a body.  It was a day of beginnings, as the land woke from the long winter.  Sansa didn’t know it was the end, not in that morning when the light sparkled off dripping icicles until all of the castle seemed to be shining.

She was alone that morning, and a frown creased her brows as she stripped the stained linens of her bed for washing.   _ He _ had been with her that night, but had slipped away as the dawn stained the night sky with pink outside her window, leaving her spent in a puddle of sweaty, stained sheets, her body aching.  

There had been as much bitterness as joy in their coupling, as much fear as love.  She had felt it even as she moved against him, the pull of the world she lived in by the light of day, the world he could not follow her into, balanced against this ecstasy in the dark.  He knew it, knew that he feared losing her, and could not reassure him.  It drove him to some dark passions, as if he was staking a claim on her the only way he could, over and over again, writing his claim into her body as had once written it on the linens they still fucked on.  

_ I do not seek to leave you,  _ she wished she could say to him in words he would understand.  _  I am yours.  Claimed and won.  You cannot make it more so by taking me every way you can imagine. _

They had quarrelled about that last point, she thought, and a wiry smile crossed her lips at the thought.  It had been a fiery, messy, disagreement that had culminated in her shrieking at him: “You have a butt-hole, too!”  That had shut him up, fast.    

There was a tentative knock.  She looked up to find kind, plump, Maester Samwell Tarly standing at her door, a blush staining his cheeks as he looked at her.  She felt a smile cross her lips.  Out of a kind impulse -- and Sam had earned kindness from her -- she pulled the bed-curtains closed.   

“Sam,” she said.  “Please come in.”

His blush deepened.  He took a few rapid steps until his was inside the room and gulped.  “May I close the door, Princess?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow.  That was unexpected.  

She had no care for her reputation now, but she did not flaunt her relationship with her lover out of concern for Bran’s feelings.  For his part, Sam had always been very careful about the proprieties.  Perhaps it was because he desired her, Sansa sometimes thought.  Men generally seemed to.  If so, she thought, he did not dare admit it to himself.  If things had been different, she might have taken some delight in breaking down Sam’s reticience in that regard.

“If you wish.”

The heavy door closed, and Sansa settled herself into the rocking chair by the fire.  His face flushed as he looked at her, causing a smile to cross her lips.  

“Must we stand on formality, Maester Tarly?” she asked.  “You are most welcome.  You’ve always been a thoughtful and considerate guest.”   She took her hands, which had been folded in her lap, and put them slowly, deliberately, on the arms of her rocking chair. 

“Princess,” Sam gulped.  

She smiled, showing teeth.

Then he squared his shoulders.  “Sansa,” he said, and there was a shift in the tone of his voice.  Suddenly he was no longer the sweet, bumbling fool.  This was the Maester speaking now, and his eyes were filled with sadness.  

Sansa felt her guts freeze with fear.  

“I did not come here to try to discourage you from this course, or to shame you for your pleasures.  But there is something you must know, for your own sake and for Jon’s.”

She felt cold, and reached for the heat of anger.  “People have warned me before, for what I have done … what *we* have done.  I don’t care.  If that is what you have come for, you may leave my chambers and leave Winterfell.”

He was silent for a moment.  Then he reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a few sheets of paper that had been rolled up like a scroll.  He held them, but made no effort to give them to her.  

“Do you understand what happened when Jon was brought back?”  he asked.  “I was not present, but Maester Pylos kept records and I examined Jon myself when I returned to the Wall, and again these last moons, whenever I could get to Winterfell.  Do you understand what has happened to him?”

She looked away, forcing her face into a cold mask.  “He’s different.  He’s stronger, faster.  He doesn’t feel the cold.  He doesn’t … he doesn’t sleep.”

_ His body next to her, hot, relentless as he thrust into her, over and over, like she was life itself to him.  Like she was the food and drink he had no appetite for.  Her cries in his ear as he made her body shake until she was a shivering wreck ... _

“I don’t care.”  Her mouth twisted.  “I know it is wrong.  A sin in the eyes of the Old Gods and the New.  I don’t care.”  She looked at the Maester, her eyes narrowing.  “Why did you come?  To involve me in you … studies?  Do you want to know what it is like when he fucks me?” She spat the profanity out, enjoying Sam’s flinch.  “Would you write that up for your Citadel?”

He stayed silent for a long time, looking at the papers in his hands.  

Then he looked up, and his face was resolute.

“I came to show you this.”  He unrolled the papers.   “Do you know what heart rate is?”  When she shook her head, bewildered by this sudden shift, he produced a small hourglass.  “The sand moves through this at exactly the same speed.  I turn it over, like this.  Then I measure the number of beats of the patient’s heart before the last grain of sand falls.”  He took her hand and pressed it to his own neck.  “We know what is an ordinary range, what is too slow, and what is too fast.”

She felt the soft throb under her fingertips before she pulled them away.

“Why are you telling me this?  Jon’s heart is faster, I assume.  So what?”

He put the papers in her lap, his hands infinitely gentle.   There was a line of numbers carefully jotted down, each one with a date next to it.

“There are other measurements I have kept, but heartrate is the easiest. The first readings were done by Maester Pylos, in the early days after the resurrection.  An ordinary heart rate would be a maximum of 220 beats in the span of this hourglass.  Jon’s was usually about 250.  It varies from reading to reading.”  He turned the page.  “These readings,” he said, pointing, “were done by me, several moons later, using the same hourglass, under conditions as similar as I could manage.

She looked at the numbers:  255, 258, 252, 260, 266, 262.  Her eyes scanned down to the bottom of the page.  269.  271.  267.  275.  277.  She turned the page, her hand shaking.  The next set of numbers were fewer, and there was a note that they had been taken at Winterfell.  At the bottom was a reading from that morning.  

300  

Sansa stared at it.  

300.

“He’s burning up, Sansa,” Sam said.  “Whatever Melisandre did when she brought him back is continuing.  He’s running hotter, faster, stronger.  And in time, he will burn out.”  He hesitated, but there was no fear in it, only a well of compassion so deep it could never run dry.  “He’s not going to live.”   





Her hands tightened, and the number blurred.  

She opened her mouth, and almost against her will a sound came out that was barely human, barely even animal. The rocker tipped forward, and she slid onto the floor, the paper still clutched in her hands, that wail still coming from her lips against all her will to control it.  

Strong hands grasped her under her arms.  Sam did not try to lift her off the floor, but just held her.  She made a fist and hit him in the shoulder once, then again.  He made no sound, although it must have hurt.  

“Liar,” she sobbed.  “You are a liar.  It isn’t true.”  

He caught her wrist, but made no other move.  “I’m sorry, Sansa.”  

She pushed her face into the flesh between his shoulder and neck.  His body was soft and yielding, his flesh warm.  Warm, not hot.  And it was with that observation that she finally understood the truth.  Sansa went limp.  

“How long?” she asked.  

“I am not sure.”

“Does he know?”

Sam nodded. “He knew it was a possibility from the beginning.  I spoke to him this morning, after I took the last reading.”  Sam’s face was sad, his voice full of grief.  

She pulled away from him, and crept back into the rocking chair, pulled her feet up and huddled there like a child.  “Go.  Please,” she whispered.

After a moment, she heard his heavy tread, and the door closing behind him.  

She sat like that for long hours, as the fire burned low and the daylight dimmed and the room grew cold.  In the end she crept back into her empty bed and wept herself to sleep.  

The next morning she rose into the light again.  There was no escaping the truth, no bargaining with the forces that were at play, no hopes for mercy.  Sansa had lost enough people to know that.  Grief was a companion that had walked with her for too many years.  It was not her own fear that mattered.  Now she understood what Jon had been seeking when he came to her in the nights.  He was out there somewhere, she knew, and in his time, he would return.

As days passed with no word, and began to be angry.  She snapped at the maids, the groomsmen, even her brother, King Bran.  (Sansa took no small amount of satisfaction when he vanished into his room for three days).  

Her anger built until she found herself staring at a cup of wine broken on the floor and a huge dark purple stain running down her bedchamber.  She looked from it to her hand, still raised from the throw.  She opened and closed her fingers in wonder.  

Then she found herself laughing, although there were tears in there and she tasted the bitter salt of it on her lips.  _  I want to keep him.  I want that.  I want it and cannot have it. _  She knew that, through long experience.  

_ He fears to lose me, even in all his grief and dread.  I am his, he has claimed me as his own and I have given myself to him.  That is why he comes to me, what he looks for in the dark of the night when he takes me over, and over, and over, and never finds the satisfaction he is looking for.     _

And then an idea came to her.  __

The preparations were not easy, but she was careful, methodical.  She had a stash of writings -- Maester Pylos had made a study of the erotica of Westeros and she had copied much of his research the last time he visited Winterfell -- and as she delved through them, she found what she was looking for.  It could be done, she thought, with care.  The practicalities were more difficult, but those were surmounted.  She had the most essential component already -- a wildling-made mammoth tusk dildo.  It had been a gift from Jon.  Beth, Sansa’s beloved Beth with such an extraordinary range of skills, had a basic knowledge of leatherworking which she put to good use when Sansa explained what was needed.  She also liberated a bottle of expensive Dornish olive oil from the locked kitchen storerooms.  

In time, she was ready, and all there was to do was wait.  Nights passed, and she stared at her canopy, alone in her empty bed, as the cold wind whistled around the curtains.  But she held to her certainty; he would come back to her.  

And he did.

She woke suddenly from a deep slumber: shocked, disoriented, heart racing.  It was pitch black.  She lit a candle.  

Jon was sitting on the end of the bed, watching her.  

“Damnit,” she hissed, relieved and furious and exasperated, and hit him with her pillow.  “You must stop doing this!”

He let it bounce off.  His face was pale.  

“Sam said he would tell you.”  

“Well, he did,” she said.  “As you should have.”    

He looked down.  His eyes were dark shadowed pits.  

She felt the anger drain from her.  

“I don’t want to die,” he said.  

“I know.”

Then he moved, crossing the difference between them.  She was in his arms, pushed down hard on the furs, his mouth on hers.  His hands were rough on her breasts.  

She put a hand against his lips.  “Shh.  Stop.”  Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back.  “You won’t find what you are looking for like this.”  

He pulled back, his weight coming off her, and looked into her eyes, his face anguished.  

“I don’t want to die,” he said, again.  “That boy, that boy they stabbed in the snow … he wanted so many things.  Never got them.  Just the cold, and the ice, and the knives.”

“Ssssshhh,” she whispered to him.  Her fingers trailed circles down his back. “You are trying to make me yours.  Keep me with you.  But you can’t.  I’m not yours.”

He went limp into the pillow.  

It was a small, warm space here, but she could hear the wind blowing outside.  It stirred the curtains around her bed.  This was such a little space, such a little time.  

She leaned in close.  “You are mine.”  She whispered it in his ear.  “You have claimed me, but I still have to make you my own.”  Then she told him what she would do to claim him.    

His eyes went wide.  

“Trust me,” she breathed.  “May I?”

He swallowed, then nodded.  

She laid him down on her bed, his face in her pillow so he could breathe in her scent, while she prepared.  He looked smaller, softer, nestled there among her furs.  But when she touched his shoulder she could feel the strength of his muscles, the fevered heat of his body, the blood pumping under his skin driven by his frenzied heart.  

He opened his eyes as she put her silver-backed hand mirror down in front of him with a rolled scarf behind it.  So she could see his face, she whispered in his ear.  She wanted to see his face.   

The strength had always been with him, if the power had not always gone with it.  The man had claimed the woman.  But now she looked at her own face in the mirror, saw her own lips smile knowingly.  Nothing was ever one way.  

She knelt between his thighs and drew gentle circles down his back with her fingertips.  Then she drew herself up on her knees and unfastened her bedgown.    Like they belonged to someone else, she watched her own hands slowly untie the fastenings, a slight tremor of the long fingers the only sign of her nevers.  Finally, the last tie fell apart.  She took a breath, and pulled the gown off her shoulders and dropped it onto the bed behind her.   In the mirror, she could see how it framed her naked body.  His eyes were transfixed.   

How often had she seen herself like this?  An odd flash in the dressing, no more.  Sansa found herself staring at herself, naked, drawn up on her knees, her breasts bare, her body proudly naked.  

_ I am beautiful,  _ she thought in wonder. Her eyes trailed down to the man splayed out in front of her.   _ And so is he.  _

He was perfect, for all his scars.  Muscled, strong, but still lean.  His ass two perfect halves, glistening in the candle light.  The curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, the width of his shoulders … he was utterly delicious, and he was  _ hers.   _

She took a breath, and reached to one side for the … she could only think of it as the apparatus. Two loops made from repurposed worn-out reins that still smelled a little of horse, a middle-part of thick leather, and … 

… and 

… and

… she swallowed at looked at it, the wildling-made mammoth-tusk dildo that he had gifted to her, beautifully carved and polished but still a dirty yellow.  Beth had mounted it firmly in the leather harness.  

Jon’s eyes were wide as she held it up.  He swallowed, and hesitated.  

“Trust me,” she said, softly.  “I have trusted you, many times.  Trust me now.”

After a pause, he nodded.  

“Tell me any time you want me to stop.”

She let her fingers trail down into the small of his back, taking her time, going slowly.  Her touch explored the point where the bones of his narrow hips began, where they gave way to the hard rounded muscle of his buttocks.  Cupping them in her hands, she could feel the heat rising.  

_ That heat is his death.   _

Tears swam in her eyes.  There was nothing to do to bargain with that merciless force, nowhere to run and hide from that inevitability.  She let her hands trail down to the crevice where butt met thigh, and slid her thumbs into the space between to caress his balls and past it to the shaft of his manhood -- firm, but not yet rock-hard.  

_ He is nervous,  _ she thought.   _ Just as I am.   _

The buckles on the harness were fastened, and it took some hard work with her fingers to loosen them.  The blood was rising in her cheeks by the time the second one came free.  She tightened one side around her upper thigh, then the other.  It had a tendency to slip down and she had to hold it firm against herself with her hand around the shaft and the end tucked in between her legs to keep it in place.  

She sometimes wondered what her Lady Mother might think to see the things she did in the dark of the night, but this … well, this might make Cersei Lannister blush. Sansa laughed, a deep throaty chuckle.

Jon stirred underneath her, but stilled as she murmured reassurances. 

She rubbed the oil on her fingers until they were slick with it.  It smelled of the dry, dusky hills of Dorne and the summer that was only a promise in the air to the north.  Her fingers slipped on his skin.

It was hard, very hard, and she felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but she pushed the dildo to the divide of his buttocks, and then past it, until the tip was at the entrance of the back passage.  He closed his eyes in anticipation.  

She pushed in.  

The books had said to go slowly, but she was nervous and perhaps misjudged the force required.  She didn’t know.  

He let out a yelp of protest, and his eyes were suddenly wide with betrayal.  

Cheeks burning, feeling the fool, she stumbled over an apology.  She pulled back … *out* more gently than she had started.  “Do … you want me to stop?”  

He flipped over onto his back and pulled her down into his arms.  Her hair formed a second, inner set of curtains around them as he kissed her, desperately, hungrily.  

“My beautiful mad girl,” he murmured.  “I wish … I wish I had time to slay all your enemies for you.”  His hand was hot fire on her breast.  He laughed.  “But the are the ones who should fear you.  You don’t need me.”  And it was sad, but there was a relief in his eyes too, like one last burden had lifted.  

She found herself laughing with him.  “No, but I want you.”  

“Then I am yours.  Do with me as you wish.”  He closed his eyes and turned his face back down into the pillow.  

It was easier the second time.  She went slower, careful to control her movements.  A quick glance in the mirror showed her that his eyes were wide with surprise, but there was no hint of pain.  The tension in him faded as he yielded to her.  

She found a rhythm, slow at first, watching his face for signs of pain, and then speeding as she became more confident.  She had to steady herself with a hand on his shoulder, and use the other to control the dildo.  It was hard and smooth, in contrast to the leather it was mounted on.  She felt her pulse start to race as the straps moved against her flesh and she could feel the wetness between her own legs.  She hadn’t expected that.  

_ This isn’t as easy as it looks, _ she could not help but think.   _ But perhaps it is easier for a man? _

Jon moaned and gasped underneath her.  She could tell it was hard for him to remain still.  His hips flexed up.  She moved with him, then grabbed the base of his cock.  He froze as he spilled into the furs.

He collapsed into the featherbed, spent.  Sansa kissed his shoulders, feeling the sweat against her lips.  She finished herself off with quick, familiar moves, shuddering in his arms.  

_ I can live without you, but I lied, I lied, I need you, I need you with me always. _

But his skin was fire under her cheek as she nuzzled into him, and she could feel the damp of his tears.  She was spent with pleasure and grief both.  “What happens now?” she asked.    

One hand traced her hair.  It was wet with sweat.  “We will die,” he answered her.  “But first we will live.”  

And in that moment, it was enough.  

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be the last story in the Love Bites collection. Thank you so much to everyone who has been a part of it, writers and readers all. It has been a wild ride, and I've loved being part of such an amazing group. Thank you!


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